Past Shadows
by AdmiralCats
Summary: Events of the past continue to haunt Drake, and they steadily become harder to avoid. Official-looking envelopes, fellow soldiers suffering from trauma, and his own personal issues make daily life a hassle, but Drake fears everything will go downhill for him when a USCM general arrives for an unplanned base inspection.
1. Chapter 1

I've never really seen the point of pools being used for "organized exercise." You can't organize things in a damn pool; either they float away or everyone's like, "Oh, boy! Water!" and we start goofing off.

Anyway, on base, we don't use the pool for "organized exercise." Frankly, if we did, I imagine we'd look like the little old ladies doing aerobics in community pools that only get cleaned once or twice a season. We use the pool for "unorganized exercise."

You know. Sports and stuff. That kind of exercise. Exercise where we can push each other.

I remember there was a pool in both the high school and middle school I went to. The boys and girls would never have class together during pool session. In the Marines, we always have class together, and there's no one to tell you that you can't push a girl. Frankly, the girls don't care if you push them, because they'll push right back. I mean, there's more than just pushing. I don't think I've ever encountered a sport more violent than water basketball with Colonial Marines.

But, it was really damn quiet and a whole lot less violent without Hudson.

Not that long ago, Hudson accidentally ran into a building being used as a lab for silver flowers, toxic plants that give off hallucinogenic fumes and restrict your breathing. I got him out in time, but he ended up being transported to a hospital in Washington, D.C., where he came under the care of a scientist who used his condition for experiments. We can all safely assume Hudson was traumatized by his experience, but I didn't think it would effect him as badly as it has.

It's been a week since coming back to base in Australia, and the poor guy has changed. At least he's talking again; when I picked him up from the hospital, he was mute for almost forty-eight hours.

He's normally not the kind of person to isolate himself. He's usually loud and irritating during training, but now, he's quieter and just takes orders with no wise-ass comments. What's worse is that his quarters are right next to mine, and I can hear him locking the door to his bathroom and sobbing.

I know how he feels. I've been poisoned by the silver flowers before-two times, actually-and I feel obliged to help him because of that. It isn't a very good feeling, especially when you have no idea how to help the other person. I'm definitely not going to tell Hudson to just keep swallowing his pain every single day. That's how a lot of my problems started. I know what not to do, but I also don't know what would be the right thing to do. Because of that, I've been spending a lot of my time thinking about good ideas, which loosely translates to "nothing."

Anyway, yeah, it's been really quiet without Hudson.

It wasn't the most boring game of water basketball I've ever played. After all, Vasquez and I were on opposite teams, and we spent the whole time trying to block each other. She took the opportunity when we were on the far side of the pool, away from everyone else, to whisper to me. "Did you lose weight on your trip?"

"Kinda," I replied. "I got locked in a warehouse and starved for twenty-four hours. I think I look better than I did before. You don't like it?"

"No, I like it. Don't start going crazy, though-"

"Hey! The game's over, lovebirds!" Apone yelled from the other end of the pool.

Of course, with nothing interesting going on, the game ended a lot earlier than it usually does. Everyone else disappeared into the locker rooms, while Vasquez and I remained on the deck.

"I know you told me you were tortured, but you didn't go into detail," Vasquez said, grabbing a towel from a rack.

"Yeah. It was just tying me to a chair and not letting me eat, sleep, or drink." I shrugged. "I did a lot of thinking. At least they didn't keep me from doing that."

"What'd you think about?"

I glanced around, making sure only Vasquez was listening. "I was thinking about how I need to stop putting myself down, how I have to stop beating myself up and kicking myself when I'm on the ground."

"And did you stop beating yourself up?"

"No, not really. I acknowledged that it was a problem, though, and I'm trying to work on it."

Vasquez nodded a little while tossing the towel over her shoulder. "I thought a lot about you when you were gone. Well-" she rolled her eyes, "I shouldn't say 'thought.' I _worried_ about you. A lot. For the first time, I . . . was finding it hard to conceal that from everyone else. I couldn't seem to handle two blows so close together, first being your sentence on the station, the second being this trip."

"I'm here now," I said. "I won't be leaving anytime soon. I hope."

"Better not leave anytime soon. Maybe I should insist on going with you."

I grinned. "Maybe you should. People would be suspicious, though."

"I know. Wouldn't hurt to try."

We stood in silence for a few minutes, until I broke the quiet with, "I missed you a lot."

Vasquez didn't reply. She glanced at me, then headed to the women's locker room.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm tired of standing here, soaking wet. I'd like to change. Is that too much to ask?"

"I'm just asking because you walked away after I told you I missed you. You told me you were worried about me, and I said I missed you."

"Yeah? That's it. We said our piece. Now we can go about our day."

"I still think something's bothering you."

"Nothing's bothering me, Drake. Drop the subject." Vasquez disappeared into the locker room before I could say anything else.

* * *

I walked out of the men's locker room still under the impression that Vasquez had something on her mind, but I didn't have a lot of time to dwell on it. While still adjusting my pants, Bishop approached me with a small stack of envelopes. "Mail delivery, Drake," he said.

"Is this a joke?" I asked. "I don't get mail."

Bishop shrugged. "It's all got your name on it, and the return addresses were confirmed by the USCM mail service."

"Alright, alright." I took the envelopes from him. When he was out of sight, I grinned a little when I saw one of the envelopes was from a Miranda Harrison. I met Miranda during my trip to Washington last week, and while we did help each other with a couple of personal issues, we also created some personal issues because Miranda liked me. As in the more-than-friends kind of liked. I took advantage of that in order to get information on Hudson. Although that blew up in my face (which was my fault), Miranda and I agreed to remain friends, and I said it was OK we write to each other.

I wrote in my previous journal that I was worried Vasquez would come across one of these letters and think I was cheating on her, but I also knew Vasquez has a lot of common sense and would probably listen to me before punching me in the face over it. I mean, she'd still punch me for not saying anything earlier, but you get the picture.

Anyway, I grinned because Miranda simply couldn't wait a little longer before sending me a letter. I get that in this day and age where mail is delivered pretty quickly, a week can seem like a long time, but still.

My grin faded when I looked at the other envelope, which was much larger than a letter. It had a return city that I recognized, even though I was certain I had driven it out of my memory. _Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_.

Glancing over my shoulder, I started heading to my quarters to read this in private. After closing the door behind me, I undid the clasp on the envelope before removing the contents, all of which had official-looking typing and handwriting. Each individual paper had the stamp of the Pittsburgh school district, namely the high school, and it didn't take me long to see what it was all for: the board of education was offering me a chance to get my GED.

They may as well have sent someone to the main gate of the base to call me out, and then slap me across the face while saying, "Remember how you didn't finish high school, Drake?! _Remember?!_ Remember how you got sent to prison?! Here's a chance to complete your education, Drake. Enjoy all the painful memories, too."

I know that's not their intention, but it still felt that way. According to the letter, this wasn't an opportunity every kid who left high school early could receive. Because I accepted the chance to join the Marines instead of finishing out my prison time, that's redemption according to the school board, so I could take the GED test, have it be completely paid for, and get my diploma so I could get a regular job whenever I leave the Marines. It's not a bad deal.

The problem I had was that it was digging up a lot of thoughts and memories that I was trying to deal with. Not only that, but I didn't want to deal with whatever the rest of my squad thought if they found out.

The test itself was already in the envelope, waiting for me to take it and then mail it back to Pittsburgh. I had time. I didn't need to do it now, but I knew the longer I waited, the worse I was going to feel about it.

* * *

My thoughts were everywhere during dinner, and all I could basically do was hope that no one was trying to talk to me. As I looked at the unappetizing, recently-taken-out-of-the-freezer rations in front of me, I thought about how I had dined pretty well back in D.C. That was definitely one thing I missed.

I knew having a diploma would give me a better chance at getting a job. Surely, I could get a job somewhere in D.C., and I could eat better more often. My stomach growled as soon as the idea crossed my mind, but I quickly became embarrassed when I realized everyone heard that.

"Food's right in front of you, Drake," Hicks said.

"I think he knows," Vasquez added, "but he got used to the fine dining in the city."

Everyone else laughed, and I heard someone say, "Cornbread and freeze-dried turkey not good enough for ya, Drake?"

"Fuck you guys," I muttered, picking up a piece of cornbread.

"Will you knuckle-nuts knock it off?" Apone snapped. "Drake, eat your Goddamn chow. I don't give a rat's ass if you're used to fine dining or whatever; you will eat what we put in front of you, even if it's a sock we find in the back of Hudson's locker."

"Yes, sir," I said, softly.

I can imagine all the smartass things Hudson would say, but he was just sitting at the end of the table, staring at his food. Apone didn't accuse him of being lazy, or told him that he needed to stop being so "irritable and moody." Almost immediately, I felt like Hudson's trauma was more visible than mine, and that was why no one was giving him a hard time. Why did everyone give me a hard time?

Anger began boiling in the pit of my stomach. I knew I couldn't say anything, because I'd be accused of being a liar. I had to let it go. I simply bottled things up better than Hudson; his problems were written all over his face.

I spent the rest of dinner keeping everything to myself, and the longer I stayed quiet, the more I just wanted to explode.

* * *

After dinner, I immediately went back to my quarters. My self-loathing told me that everyone had a good reason to give me a hard time, but my common sense told me that I didn't deserve this kind of treatment.

Sitting on my bed, I took a deep breath, trying to tell myself that I shouldn't let this bother me. This had to be one of the dumbest things to get angry over. With that, I took another breath, and headed into the bathroom to shower before getting settled for the night.

While I was in the shower, I heard someone knock on the door. "Who is it?" I called.

"It's me," Vasquez replied. "Can I come in?"

"Sure." I turned off the water and opened the shower door to grab my towel.

Vasquez entered the bathroom, observing me tying the towel around my waist. "I came to say 'sorry.'"

"For what?"

"For the fine-dining comment. I noticed you looked upset afterward."

"That's not why I was upset," I replied. "I'm upset because of Hudson. I want to know what makes his experience worse than mine. How come Apone lets him sit around, but gets mad at me when I sat around during my illness? How come everyone leaves Hudson alone, but when I got back from my punishment, I'm still treated like nothing's wrong."

Vasquez shrugged. "Hudson's making it more obvious that something's wrong."

"Big fucking deal! You all knew about what happened to me!"

"Drake, why do you feel like you should be receiving the same treatment as Hudson?"

"That's not the point. The point is that I feel like I don't matter to any of you! I could get shot in combat and you'd still go help someone else rather than me."

"OK, you know that's not true. We don't leave comrades behind in battle. Besides, I thought you said you worked on not putting yourself down when you were in D.C."

"Yeah, well, that changed. It doesn't take that much for any kind of progress I make to be flushed back down the fucking drain." I slammed shut the shower door. "Everyone else around me can improve their lives and get promotions and medals and friends and love and better jobs and what do I fucking get? Bad luck, setbacks, and post-traumatic stress disorder!"

Vasquez raised an eyebrow. Her jaw parted slightly as if to say something, but then she closed it, still giving me a confused look. "Drake . . . you didn't . . ."

"I wouldn't be saying anything about it if Delhoun didn't bring it up during a phone call in D.C. Just . . . I listed everything that was wrong, and he said it's highly likely I'm suffering from PTSD because I'm having such a hard time dealing with the nightmares and memories I have of those damn silver flowers."

"Why didn't you say something when you got back?"

"Because I could get kicked out of the Marines! I could lose my job, and I'll never get another one because no one would ever hire an emotionally disturbed man and think it's a good idea."

"Drake, you don't even have a diagnosis. As long as you don't bring it up with any medics around here, you're fine." Vasquez grabbed my shoulder, squeezing it hard. "You really did lose weight. I can feel some bones in there."

Part of me didn't appreciate her changing the subject, but I knew she was trying to make me feel better. I think she understood what I was saying, but needed time before coming up with a good answer. I like that about her. With that in mind, I gave a weak smile, prompting her to move closer to me and touch my chin. I leaned down to nuzzle her forehead, and she tipped her head up to kiss me.

"Do you feel better?" she whispered.

"No," I whispered back. "Let me get dressed, and then maybe we can-"

Vasquez shook her head. "Not tonight."

"Is everything-"

"I'm not up for it. Sorry. I would . . . I would rather talk to you."

"OK. I understand. Still, can I get dressed? Wait outside."

After getting a pair of shorts on, I left the bathroom to find Vasquez sitting on the edge of my bed. I sat next to her, putting my arms around her. "So, whaddaya want to talk about?"

She sighed. "Remember how I kinda pushed you away earlier, when we left the pool?"

I nodded.

"I probably should've handled that better. I mean, I thought the conversation was over and then you say 'I missed you,' and . . . I don't know."

"What? Got a little tongue-tied for a minute? That's OK. You got me a little nervous, though, that something was wrong."

"No, nothing's wrong. It's just . . . you keep going away, and it's almost like I'm waiting for the day that you go away for good."

"I'm not going away for good." I kissed her cheek. "I promise."

"Is that something you can promise?"

"Did I come back when I said I would from the trip to D.C.? I know I said 'I promise' then, didn't I?"

"You did."

"At least I didn't have a near-death experience, like last time."

"I'm pretty sure if you kept pissing Hornby off, he would've ordered you to be shot."

"But it didn't happen. Come on, why can't you be happy when I'm around? Did I do something wrong? You know I was thinking of you the whole trip. You know I loved you the whole trip."

"Did you really? Was I the first person you thought of when you woke up?"

"To be realistic, no. The first person I thought of was me, then you, then Hudson, then-"

"OK, I really don't care what order you put everyone in. I'm not denying that you were thinking of me. I just think you love going places by yourself a little too much."

"Hey, what's wrong with that? I actually think it's helping me."

"Well, I don't think it is. If it did, you wouldn't have yelled at me a few minutes ago about how you think we like Hudson better than you."

I sighed. "I didn't have a major transformation. Fixing yourself doesn't happen overnight. Why are you convinced this happens every time I go somewhere by myself?"

"I'm not convinced. I just wish you would actually put some effort into putting the Goddamn past behind you instead of letting it consume you every single day! You weren't like this when we first met."

"Are you saying I shouldn't be changing, period?"

"No. You need to change for the better, and you're just . . . not. Every time you say you've changed, you don't; you go back to dwelling on your past. It's like a nightmarish cycle. You need to get out of it!"

I couldn't argue with anything she said, because I knew she was right. It was painful to know, but, I had to know. That was all part of solving your problems; acknowledging they exist. Then again, I've known about my problems for a long time. I hate it when people point them out, but it's a little different when it comes from someone who's cared about you for several years, especially when they're on the verge of tears because of it. I've said before that it's extremely rare Vasquez cries, so I knew I fucked up big time when I saw tears rolling down her face after she shook my shoulders, as if that was going to do anything.

* * *

 _Author's Note: I'll put up a question next chapter, I promise.  
_

 _I have mixed feelings about the start of this story. One, I think too many issues were introduced in a short amount of time, but at the same time, I think this method of conflict introduction will allow me to write a longer, more fleshed out story. I did tell myself months ago that this would be a series comprised of short stories . . . well, after doing some math, I found that the last two stories are both over a hundred pages if put to paper. I'm proud of that, but I doubt I would've continued if no one noticed these stories in the first place.  
_

 _I mean, I know conflict is good for the story, but it's like I punched Drake in the gut a couple times. Or three or four times. I know there's a writing saying that goes "kill your darlings." I'm more like "abuse your darlings," haha. Again, happy reading._


	2. Chapter 2

I woke up earlier than everyone else on base, and had a hard time going back to sleep. The sun was starting to glare through the window blinds, making it more difficult to even try to sleep. When I gave up, I let out an irritated groan before forcing myself out of bed.

After getting dressed, I opened the window shades, squinting in the bright light. Once my eyes adjusted, I could see a stretch of grass, then the faint blue line of the ocean. For some reason, it felt dream-like; probably because we don't go that far away from the base, unless we're going to the mainland of Australia.

I sighed, wishing I could go and sit in the ocean for an hour or two. I also wished my nerves weren't fried so easily.

Leaving my room, I walked down the hall until reaching the mess hall, and saw Apone sitting at the table with a newspaper and coffee cup. "'Morning, Sarge," I said.

"Private," Apone replied. "Why the hell're you up so early?"

"Can't sleep."

"Can't sleep? Well, you were sleeping like a baby when Hudson decided to go out for a midnight stroll."

I frowned. "What?"

"Yeah. Around twelve-thirty, I hear someone pacing the hall, talking to himself. I get up, open the door, and there's Hudson, walking around in his underpants, muttering about how he keeps having bad dreams about those motherfucking flowers." Apone set the paper down. "Took three people to get him back in his room." He looked at me. "I'm not going to tolerate this for much longer. We can't afford to lose a man like Hudson."

There were a lot of things I wanted to say, mainly about how everyone else thought that I was unimportant compared to Hudson. I knew that was going to result in me digging myself a deep grave, so I said nothing.

"How'd you deal with the aftermath of your incident, Drake?"

My heart skipped a beat. Apone was actually asking for my advice? "Wait . . . me, sir?"

He gave me a dirty look. "Yeah, you. Who else in this squad got poisoned?"

I bit my lip, hoping that everything I said came out right. "Well, I'm . . . I'm still dealing with the aftermath, to be honest. I might be functioning better than Hudson, but it's not without a price." I found myself internally panicking, knowing that everything I said wasn't going to help Hudson at all. "I can sum it up in a sentence or two: I've done a horrible job dealing with the aftermath of the flowers. It doesn't help that I have a lot of regrets in my past and that I don't know how to accept that I screwed up and just move on. I know I went through the same thing as Hudson, but I'm not the right person to help him, not when I can't help myself."

"I think you _can_ help him. Obviously, you know what not to do. Just do the opposite with Hudson."

"It's not that easy."

"You haven't tried. Just because you don't think it'll work doesn't mean you shouldn't try. I'm tasking you with this, Drake. Whether or not you think it's going to be easy is irrelevant; the important thing is that we need a fully functioning group of Marines. Clearly, you haven't been helping with that recently. If you can't handle working with everyone else, or you can't handle working, period, then I suggest you get your discharge papers ready. We'll drop you off at the nearest civilian airport with your bags."

I nodded, my chest starting to ache. "Yes, sir." With nothing else to say, I left the room, wondering what more stupid things could I say before I was completely screwed over.

* * *

After getting permission to go into Brisbane to ask a friend of mine for advice, I was curious as to why I was constantly being antagonized. I had felt the same way right before going to Washington, but it was now that I pondered the reasoning behind it. Honestly, I could understand why Apone thought I was unproductive; I had been leaving a lot and getting sick a lot and I wasn't contributing anything. On the other hand, I wondered if he was trying to help me by making me mad so I'd push myself harder.

I spotted Doctor Delhoun in a fenced area of the facility he created for helping Annexers, which are rodent-like aliens that wear gas masks, and they don't remove them unless they trust you. I've never seen him out of uniform, but here he was, sitting in the grass in shorts and a T-shirt, giving treats to all his precious Annexers.

"Hello, Drake," he said, cheerfully.

I leaned against the fence. "Hey. Do you have a minute?"

"I do." Delhoun stood up, unlocking the gate. "Come on in. Have a seat in the grass." As soon as I sat down, Delhoun handed me a plastic bag of treats. "Those are baked peanut butter balls," he said. "It's got melted chocolate and walnuts in the center. The Annexers love it. You can have one, too, if you want." He crossed his legs, smirking when his pet, Winnie, began sniffing around me. "So, what's going on? I heard you had quite the adventure in D.C."

"Yeah. That's not what I came to you about. I need help regarding Hudson."

"Ah. I knew that was going to become a problem-Drake, don't tease her. She'll scratch you."

I glanced to my right to see a helmetless Winnie trying to reach for the treat in my hand, and then held it out to her. She snatched it away with her teeth, and sprinted over to a tree where around fifteen other Annexers were playing or hiding or resting.

Delhoun grinned. "Anyway, I'm guessing that Hudson's not adjusting well?"

I shook my head. "He hasn't been himself at all."

"That's to be expected. I don't think I'd be myself if I was forcefully given infections, starved for twelve hours, and displayed like a freak to university students." Delhoun sighed. "People deal with trauma in their own way. I think it's important you and the rest of your squad make sure he doesn't deal with it in ways that would hurt himself or others."

"I think you're just pointing out the obvious. That doesn't help."

"I'm not an expert on this."

"I know, but you surely could've used your time for something other than making candy for animals."

"You're not in charge of my operation," Delhoun replied. "I may not be an expert on trauma or silver flowers, but as a friend, I'm going to give you any advice I can." He set his bag of treats next to him before folding his hands in his lap. "Talk to Hudson as much as possible. Recovery works best with another person, but it doesn't start until you trust each other. Get him to trust you so he can open up about his nightmares."

"Is that it?"

"No. That's the most you're capable of doing right now. You're not a therapist, but you do know what he's going through."

"Yeah, and I failed to fix myself. Why should that make me the best guy to help Hudson?"

"I think you'll figure it out once you start talking to him." Delhoun picked up the plastic bag before standing up. "By the way, I have a message from Aran, in case you're wondering where he is. He wrote to me a few days ago saying the plane he hitchhiked on had to make an emergency stop in Madagascar due to a storm. He'd probably be here by now, but he's enjoying his time there."

"Figures. I kept him locked in the Goddamn hotel room the whole time we were in Washington. He's definitely a lot happier without me."

"That's complete and utter bullshit, Drake. He misses you and he hopes you're doing OK."

"Did he say that in his letter?"

"Of course he did. I can show it to you, if you want." Delhoun opened the gate. "Did you have breakfast? I have leftover pancakes."

"I'm not hungry," I lied. As soon as Delhoun wasn't looking, I put one of the peanut butter things in my mouth. Come on, it was just peanut butter, chocolate, and walnuts. I think Delhoun would've told me if there was some kind of mix in there strictly for animals.

As I followed Delhoun into the building, I realized the Annexer treat was very dry and difficult to chew. It tasted OK, but it was just so damn dry. "Maybe you shouldn't bake these," I mumbled.

Delhoun glanced at me. "Why?"

"It's dry."

"It's supposed to be dry. The baking holds everything together."

"Well, then, how the hell do you eat these on a regular basis?"

"I don't eat them on a regular basis. It was just a fun little project I did because I'm trying to add more to Annexers on the pet market by creating simple things owners can do at home." He led me into the kitchen, where he searched his oversize refrigerator for those pancakes. "If you'd like to help out, I'd appreciate it."

"I know you would, but I'm busy," I replied. "I'm trying to help Hudson, remember?"

"Understandable." Delhoun set a plate in front of me, then sat at the table with a steaming cup of coffee. "Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

I thought for a moment, wondering if it was a good idea to tell Delhoun about the envelope with a chance to take a test for my GED. He wouldn't tell anyone, right? "Yesterday, I got a big packet in the mail. My old school in Pittsburgh . . . they're giving me a chance to get my diploma."

"That's good. Have you taken the test?"

"Not yet. They gave me the test, and I have a few weeks to complete it."

"Interesting. This is a good opportunity for you. Having a diploma gives you more access to jobs if you leave the Marines."

"Well, I'm . . . I'm really not comfortable with it."

"Why? There's nothing to be _uncomfortable_ with."

"It reminds me of everything I did wrong. I can't focus on the test itself if I'm thinking about my past mistakes and how . . . how I'm a failure of a human being."

Working his jaw as he thought, Delhoun nodded a little. "I can see how that would be an issue. Is it possible for you to take it in a controlled environment?"

"I don't want to tell anyone. I just don't."

"Why?"

"I don't need the burden of other people knowing."

"Someone has to know. This is kind of important, Drake." Delhoun leaned in to whisper. "What about your girlfriend?"

"She's gonna assume that I'm taking this opportunity to leave the Marines."

"How do you know that?"

"She told me last night that she's afraid of me leaving again."

"Ah. If it makes you feel better, you can trust me if you'd like to bring the test here and work on it. I can set up a room and just let me know what I can do to make it as comfortable and stress-free as possible."

I sighed, knowing I needed time to mull this over. Just like everything else in my life.

* * *

I wish I didn't stuff myself with pancakes while visiting Delhoun, because it was already lunchtime when I got back, and I didn't want to provide the look of "I'm too good for the cornbread," after last night's incident.

Right before I sat down, Hicks said, "Drake, can you go get Hudson from his room? Thanks."

Without saying a word, I headed toward the hallway. Again, I still don't understand why I'm being pushed down like this. There has to be a good reason, and I'm just too stupid to figure it out. That being said, I couldn't be bitter and upset when talking to Hudson. I knew Apone gave me the task of helping him, and if I wanted to feel more important, I couldn't fail.

Then again, I've failed everywhere else in my life. Why should now be any different?

I was a little surprised that Hudson answered the door, but what surprised me even more was the fact that he was looking a lot healthier than I thought he'd look. Of course, that could be from the experimental medicine that Hornby gave us as an apology, which I should probably accept if this pill works to its full potential.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I asked, wanting to get right to the point.

He nodded, and gestured for me to come inside. "I know everything went to shit when you saw me in the hospital, but am I right in remembering you saying something about nightmares making you weak?"

"Yeah . . . you're right. W-Why do you-"

"I dunno. 'Cause I'm starting to think it's true." Hudson rubbed his face, droplets of silver sweat appearing. "Every Goddamn night, I start thinking I'm gonna wake up back in that lab. Even if I get to sleep, I start dreaming about it. I feel like I can't breathe. Sometimes, I'm afraid that's gonna translate to the real world, and I'll have trouble breathing while I'm asleep." He looked at me, the ghost of panic in his eyes. "You know what that's like, right?"

I shifted my weight. "My dreams are a little different, but I understand that it's frustrating when you just can't stop thinking about them. Every time someone mentions the flowers, I suddenly feel like I can't breathe, if that's what you're trying to ask me about."

Something snapped within Hudson. His cheeks flushed red and his eyes began to sparkle with tears. They rolled down his face as he clenched his fists and began screaming at me. " _I don't know why I have this feeling that I should quit! I can't quit! I don't want to quit! I love my job, and I don't want to leave it!_ " A variety of fluids covered his face, all of them tinged with silver. "I signed up for this because I wanted to do something with my life. I couldn't do anything right back home, so I came here and I found something that makes me feel like I got a purpose. Why should I throw all this away? Why do I have voices in my head telling me to quit?"

"Are they saying why you should quit?"

"No. I-It's very sudden . . . it's like . . . like . . . I never had that feeling till now."

Hudson's feelings of hopelessness were stemming directly from the side effects of the toxin, and maybe even the medication. There was no doubt about it. Frankly, it made my feelings of hopelessness worse considering all I've been through, but I definitely wasn't going to say that. "I wish I could come up with something better, but, the best I can say is don't listen to that feeling. I know it's hard because it's there all the time, but try to counter it with other thoughts. Fight it. I fight myself regularly, and even though it's an uphill battle, I've had a few victories." I sighed. "I'm sorry. That's probably . . . not the best advice."

"You're trying, man, that's all that matters."

That actually brought a faint smile to my face. In fact, it made me want to take a step onto the creaky, rotting bridge called "perseverance." A lot of people have told me that it's good I'm trying, but it felt different coming from someone who doesn't know the whole story. It felt different coming from someone who was experiencing something very similar to what I was experiencing.

I just wish I could take more than one step onto this damn bridge.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: If we take the movie "Aliens" out of the equation, is Vasquez justified in thinking Drake is looking for a way to leave the Colonial Marines?_

 _Author's Note: To answer a question from FoolishAliens, there really isn't a major reason why I chose Pittsburgh as Drake's birthplace. I know "random reasons" sound like poor aspects of writing, but I think every story has some "randomness" involved. Too much randomness is not a good thing, but just like humor, it's OK if used in small amounts. I was torn between the cities of Harrisburg (the capital of Pennsylvania) and Pittsburgh, but I went with Pittsburgh. I used Pennsylvania because I've driven through the state a few times and felt like I should put it in a story at one point or another. The opportunity presented itself, I guess._


	3. Chapter 3

You know what's funny? Hearing someone say, "It's winter and I have the air conditioner on." I don't think this is an uncommon thing to hear in Australia, but it is a little strange when you grew up in the northern hemisphere.

I turned the AC on in my room when I returned from lunch, not because I was hot, but because I wanted to get started on the GED test. I sat on the bed, took this exact pen I'm using, and made the accomplishment of putting my name on the booklet.

The first few questions were easy. It was all simple stuff like reading, and I felt like a moron answering them because it felt like questions you'd give to a third-grader. They gradually increased in difficulty, and I hoped I didn't get points off for using my common sense. I may not have completed eleventh-grade English, but I'm not stupid.

I found myself questioning how certain parts of this were going to help me, especially when I had to "identify the rules of a sonnet." I know I got that wrong.

Not too long after, I had a bad case of heartburn. It was a perfect opportunity to take a break, so I put the pen and test booklet down, and went into the bathroom to take an antacid. After swallowing the tablet and chasing it with water, I had a brief flashback while looking at myself in the mirror. I saw myself in the restroom by the gym in high school. I remember it was about a week until summer during my sophomore year. With nothing more to do, the gym classes were doing a lot more fun activities, and we had just started a game of football.

I remember I wasn't very good. I remember the others didn't exactly want me on their team for that reason, so I was usually picked after the good kids were chosen. I would try my hardest, even though I oftentimes wasn't sure what I was doing.

There's a certain feeling that accompanies doing something you don't have a lot of confidence in doing, but you do it anyway because you want to look your best in front of others. It feels like you're going to vomit all over yourself. Not just vomit, but simply straight up puke on yourself-your shirt, your pants, your boots, everything. Few things in life are as embarrassing as that. A hundred things could go wrong while you're out there, trying to make yourself look good. Basically, you're scared out of your wits, and you wish you weren't human.

After being picked third-to-last, I joined the rest of my team. I wasn't sure what to do, what position to play, and all that. I don't even think the others told me what to do, like I was expected to just tackle people. Well, I did, and I almost got my entire ribcage shattered. I tackled someone when I wasn't supposed to, and he turned around, thinking I wanted to fight, and shoved my chest hard. I struggled to breathe for a good ten minutes, and disappeared to the restroom, embarrassed and afraid.

In the time I was lost in thought, I realized I could've been working on my test. And I wasn't.

* * *

My mood barely improved during dinner, but I was glad to see Hudson making an effort to talk to people again. With that effort came people applauding him and giving him claps on the back.

"Glad to see you're feeling better," Hicks said. "Here, have some more peas."

I looked at Vasquez while everyone else tried trading away their food to Hudson. "Where're my fucking peas?"

"Drake, don't start," Vasquez muttered. "I'll give you a piece of marble cake if you stop complaining."

I bit my tongue, but couldn't help smiling.

"What?"

"You don't have marble cake, do you?"

Vasquez pulled something small and wrapped in plastic from one of her pockets. "I stole this after lunch."

There were a lot of things I'd say if we were alone. "You really work miracles, don't you, honey?"

She gave me a sharp elbow in my thigh. "Shut up, Drake."

As we were finishing up, Bishop strolled into the room. "Sergeant? There's a General Russell here to see you and the squadron." Before he could finish, a well-built man with an expressionless face walked into the room. He had graying red hair and steel-blue eyes that seemed to pierce every soul in the room. His uniform suggested he had seen a lot of shit-he had medals of varying degrees and accomplishments all over the left side of his chest, and something about his demeanor suggested he earned all those legitimately.

" _Attention!_ " he barked.

We all stood up. I remembered the pancakes from this morning, and unconsciously sucked in my stomach.

Russell looked at Hicks first. "Are you the man requesting a medal of bravery for one of your soldiers?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Hicks yelled.

"Alright. Which one of these grunts is so deserving of one?"

"Sir, Private Drake, sir!"

I sucked in my stomach a little harder.

Russell nodded, then calmly walked over to me with his arms behind his back. "You're Drake, right?"

I swallowed past a lump in my throat. "Yes, sir."

"Why does Corporal Hicks want you to have a medal, son?"

"I . . . I rescued Hudson from-"

"Speak up, Private!"

"I rescued Hudson from a contaminated building, sir."

Russell gave another slow nod. "Do you have people who can confirm that for you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can Hudson himself confirm that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you trying to speak for him?"

"No, sir." I took a breath.

"You getting nervous there, Private?"

"No, sir." I tried to control my breathing, but as I mentally told myself to do that, I thought about how Delhoun told me to "control my breathing" when I was locked in the silver flower lab on the orbital hospital. My heart began pounding faster, and my throat began to close. My brain started to panic, but the presence of so many people prevented my body from doing anything. _I need help. I need help. I need help,_ repeated in my head, and I suddenly felt like my chest was being crushed. I could hear Delhoun yelling at me to "hang in there."

Everything went black, and the last thing I heard was a heavy _thud_ against the table.

* * *

It wasn't too long after when I started coming back around, and I heard Vasquez say, "He's waking up . . . Drake? Drake, can you hear me?"

My vision focused, and I saw everyone standing over me, looking concerned. My mind had gone blank, and I had no idea what to say or do, other than mumble, "What happened?"

"You passed out in front of the general." Vasquez handed me a water bottle and helped me sit up, allowing me to see that I was lying on the floor of the mess hall.

"That you did," Russell said, kneeling by me. "Is this a regular occurrence for you?"

"N-No, sir," I replied. "I . . . I guess I held my breath for too long."

"Well, for that response, I'm ashamed of you, Private. Where on God's good Earth did you get the idea that holding your breath was going to be impressive? I'm not some kind of animal that you need to cower in fear over. What I demand from you, and the rest, is respect." Russell looked at Hicks. "You really want him to get a medal?"

"Yes, sir," Hicks replied.

Russell sighed as he stood up. "I'll be staying here for the next four days. If Drake can prove he's worthy, I'll decorate him myself. If not, try again."

* * *

I couldn't get to sleep after that. More and more, I felt like people were prodding at me, trying to make me upset to the point where I blew up and told them exactly how I felt. I knew doing that wouldn't help, but I don't know how much longer I can keep myself bottled up. Worse yet, I'm aware that it isn't healthy.

Remembering Miranda, I took her letter from my nightstand drawer and opened it. Even though it had only been a week since I left D.C., I was starting to miss her. I could've vented to her and felt somewhat better. But, that's impossible now, and it created a sensation of pathetic hopelessness as I read her letter.

" _Hi, Mark! Hope you're doing OK. Everything's going OK with me and Mathias. Well, not so much with Mathias, though; things went back to normal when we got back to the university. I'm writing this in between removing a fake appendix and writing a paper on the procedure. At least Mathias isn't as sad as he was before. He's trying to be a good sport, but that's pretty hard with a condition as painful as appendicitis.  
_

 _"I know it hasn't been very long, but I miss hanging out with you. There's a lot going on that I would've liked to go to if you were still here. A lot of the beaches on the Chesapeake Bay have opened. The semester's ending soon and we're taking trips to amusement parks. You probably couldn't go with us, but it'd be nice to sneak off and meet up with you.  
_

 _"I don't know if you're busy or not, so I won't hold you down long. Best of luck and lots of hugs. - Miranda"_

I gave a heavy sigh, wishing I could go do something as carefree as hide out in an amusement park to wait for Miranda so we could wander around and do what we pleased. I don't think I could do that with so many responsibilities on my mind.

As I folded up the letter and put it back in my nightstand, I heard a knock at the door, and Vasquez entered without me asking who was there. She took the piece of marble cake from her pocket, unwrapped it, and told me to open my mouth. Before I could say "Why?" she shoved the cake between my teeth. "Don't ask any questions. Just enjoy it." She sat next to me, and waited for me to finish the cake before asking, "How come you passed out when Russell was talking to you?"

"Wait, I can't ask questions, but you can?" I said.

"I'm not trying to be funny, Drake."

"Alright. Well, I tried to control my breathing, and . . . and I started thinking about what happened on that station. I felt like my heart was trying to beat its way out of my ribs and my throat closed up and I just couldn't breathe."

"You were having a flashback?"

I nodded. "You could put it that way, yeah."

There was silence between us for a few minutes, until Vasquez sighed. "So, you really _can't_ pull yourself out of the past."

I shook my head.

"Had a feeling you were right. I'm the one who should be sorry because I told you to jump out of the damn hamster wheel already, even though you can't."

"Don't be sorry. You just didn't understand, and that's fine." I offered a weak smile. "I can pull through this."

Vasquez didn't seem to believe me, but she managed to smirk as well. "I really hope you put effort into this."

I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. "It's almost ten. Were you gonna go back to your room, or do you want to stay here with me?"

"I'll stay with you." Vasquez threw back the covers, crawling into the bed and moving closer to me. "'Night, Drake."

She seemed to be asleep as soon as she put her head on the pillow. I was still awake, though, and my mind was still wandering. I wished I didn't lie to Vasquez about pulling through my issues. I wished I had the courage to tell her about the GED.

I just wished I could tell her I felt like I was never going to be OK.

* * *

We both almost had a heart attack when we awoke to hear Russell banging on our doors at five-thirty in the morning.

"Everybody up! No more sleeping in, grunts! Rise and shine! I want all your asses outside and by your doors, _now!_ " he was yelling.

"Shit, Drake, what're we gonna do?" Vasquez whispered, rubbing her eyes as she sat up.

"Pray for a miracle," I groaned.

It didn't take long for my prayers to be answered. A second later, we heard Hudson howl, " _I need air! I NEED AIR!_ " before throwing up in his toilet.

"There's our miracle," I said as Russell barged into Hudson's room.

Vasquez dashed out of my room, shoving open the door to hers, and emerging in her PT gear. I was slower, lazily taking off my boxers and replacing them with cargo shorts. I didn't even bother with a shirt as I got outside, closing the door behind me.

". . . Take a deep breath, now, Hudson. It's alright. You're not in that lab," Russell said calmly.

I glanced in the direction of his voice, and heard Hudson gasp for air.

"Take your time, OK? Everything's alright." Russell left the room, and glared at the rest of us. He walked down the hall, giving nods of approval to everyone . . . except me. "Where the hell is your shirt, Private?"

I gulped. "It's . . . um . . . in my room."

It was pretty obvious Russell didn't take any kind of excuses. At least, not from me. "Put a shirt on, you Goddamn rat-fucker of a slob."

Hudson stepped out of his room, paler than a sheet of ice. Silver-tinged sweat was running down his face, and he was shivering. He took a ragged breath, struggling to calm down.

I looked at him sympathetically. "You doing OK?"

"Who said you could talk, Private?!" Russell shouted at me. "Go get your fucking shirt on, and come back out here! Stand straight, face forward, and don't even _think_ about talking, you hear?!" He turned to Hudson. "You feeling a little better?"

What little control Hudson had over his expression quickly faded away. The sweat on his face became mixed with tears.

I thought back to the conversation we had yesterday, and how Hudson told me he kept hearing voices tell him to quit. Were they at their loudest now?

Truth be told, I didn't want to see Hudson humiliate himself, not after all he's been through, but a sneaky part of me was whispering, _Let him break down. Russell won't take too kindly to that. You'll be put on the same level. No more special treatment._

So, I did nothing.

Russell's expression didn't change. "Take a moment to catch your breath, alright?" he said to Hudson before moving down the line.

I wanted to scream "Why?" but I knew that wouldn't help.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: In your opinion, which item holds more value for Drake: a bravery medal or a very late diploma?_


	4. Chapter 4

I really didn't want to deal with Russell all day, but he made a point of breathing down my neck whenever he could. At breakfast, he asked me about proper table manners. That's something I can kind of understand. Then he asked me about my regular eating habits, and I decided to be honest and tell him what happened over the last week.

"You spoiled yourself, huh?" Russell muttered. "Did you eat alone or with people?"

"With people," I said.

"Yeah? What kind of people?"

"A friend."

"Male or female?"

"Female." I practically felt Vasquez glance at me, and it sent chills throughout my body.

"Was it someone you're involved with romantically?" Russell asked.

"No, sir," I replied. "She was helping me get information on Hudson's condition in D.C."

Russell sought opportunities to see if I cracked easily under pressure, both physically and mentally. During our daily exercises in the pool, he made me swim to the deep end, told me to hold my breath, and forced my head underwater by gently pressing down. I was OK for a few seconds before panic mode set in. I tried to push myself upward, but Russell kept holding me down.

I heard Hudson yell, "He's gonna black out, man, let him go!"

The muffled sound was so similar to that faraway sound I heard when I experienced my first hallucinations in the lab onboard the hospital station. The pain in my chest was instantaneous, and I was beginning to feel numb.

"Drake, push away, not up!" Vasquez hollered.

Her demands were mixed with the frantic orders of the doctors hovering over me when I was rushed out of the lab. I faintly remembering hearing someone say my heart had stopped. I remember the defibrillator being slammed against my chest.

 _I'm still alive. I'm still alive. I'm still alive . . ._

"Dammit, Drake! _PUSH AWAY!_ " Vasquez screamed.

I braced myself against the side of the pool, and shoved myself out from under Russell's hand. A split-second later, my head was above the water, and I drew in a deep breath. The tightness and the memories faded away.

"Fifteen seconds, Drake," Russell said. "Most Marines can hold their breath for far longer than that."

I sighed, unsure of whether I should feel like a failure or be upset at what happened. Underneath that was a mix of swirling feelings, including the desire to throw up. _Russell doesn't know how bad my experiences have effected me. His job is to see that I can get that medal. My job is to earn it. Do I even want it? No, I don't want it if this is what I have to go through._

"Drake? Are you OK?" Vasquez asked.

I didn't answer. Instead, I hauled myself out of the pool, walking over to a bench to grab my towel. The room was silent; no one said anything, or tried to stop me from leaving, even when I glanced over my shoulder at Russell before I entered the locker room.

"I think you pushed some limits there, General," Apone said. "What the hell'd you do that for anyways?"

Russell didn't reply.

"Well? I don't exactly want to report you to headquarters for abusing one of my men. We can settle this civilly."

"I was trying to test him, that's all," Russell said, softly. "I didn't want to hurt him."

"Why don't you say that to Drake's face?" Hudson snarled. "Jesus Christ, you coulda killed him-"

"Knock it off, Hudson," Apone snapped.

"No! I gotta say something. Drake saved my life. I owe him something for that. He's been through just as much shit as I have. He's been-"

"Hudson, we'll deal with this later, now, shut it."

"I'm not gonna shut it till I say my piece! Drake's a tough guy, I know it. He coulda held his breath longer if he wasn't-"

"Hudson, that's enough," Hicks interjected.

"You wanna get demoted?" Apone added. "Close your piehole for once."

Now Hudson fell silent. Despite his efforts to stick up for me, I didn't want to be seen by anyone for the rest of the day.

* * *

I spent the next several hours trying to work on my test, but most of that time was spent staring at the paper rather than putting the pen on it. When I simply couldn't focus on the test, I opened my nightstand to reread Miranda's letter. I should've known that wasn't going to make me feel better; in fact, it made me feel worse.

Thinking about it now, the decision to reread Miranda's letter was eerily on cue, because when I was about to put it away, Vasquez burst into my room. She slammed shut the door, and then grabbed my shirt collar. "You didn't tell me you hung out with another woman while you were in D.C.!"

"What is there to tell?!" I asked.

"Are you seriously asking me that?! Who is she, Drake?" Vasquez shook me roughly. "Who is she?!"

"Why does this bother you?"

"Are you stupid?! I've been telling you for the last three days that I'm tired of you being stuck in the past and being alone all the time! Does that not bother you? Do you not even remotely think that I'm afraid of you thinking about replacing me? _And after all we've been through?!_ "

"I was just friends with this woman," I said. "Is that not allowed?"

"I wouldn't be upset if you didn't enjoy your alone time so much!"

"Jesus, Vasquez, it's not like I had sex with her!"

Several heartbeats went by before Vasquez lessened her grip on me, and lowered her voice. "Are you telling me the truth?"

"Of course I am. We've been through a lot together. I can't just throw that away."

Vasquez tightened her grip from frustration. "Drake . . ." She bit back a sob. "Drake, I'm sorry."

"No, don't be sorry." I hugged her and ran my fingers through her hair. "I should've said something earlier."

As much as I keep writing about how much Vasquez means to me, I realized at that moment that I had actually been neglecting our relationship, and I think she knew it, too. We don't do the things we used to do while in boot camp. We don't sneak away or hide alone somewhere. I also felt like I needed to be more honest, so, as I was holding her, I whispered to her exactly what happened in Washington regarding Miranda, starting with when I met Mathias, Miranda's medical-dummy android, on the Metro.

"So, let me get this straight," Vasquez sighed, "You pretended to love her so you could get information on Hudson?"

"All pretend. I didn't have any sort of romantic feeling for her," I replied.

"But _she_ had romantic feelings for you."

"Yep. Hey, she didn't know about you until I told her the truth. I was honest with her; I told her about how I've known you for a long time, how I'm not gonna give up on you for someone I only knew for two days. Still, I didn't want to be mean to her. It's . . . It's OK we're friends, right?"

"As long as she's not putting lipstick on her letters."

"Well-" I opened my nightstand, pulling out the letter I was sent, "See for yourself."

As she read it, Vasquez shook her head. "'Lots of hugs,' is pushing it, Drake." She handed the paper back to me. "Look, I really don't care that you're friends with this person. Obviously, she did help you with Hudson, and even though I think Hudson is the world's biggest migraine, I wouldn't leave him in someone's laboratory. But, I don't want to find out that she's writing sappy love letters to you, because then I'll go to D.C. myself and push her off the edge of a building, got it?"

"Got it." I grinned. "See? I knew you'd be just a little upset."

"And why does that make you smile?"

"Because you're cute when you're mad."

Vasquez was about to backhand me when someone knocked on the door.

"Drake? I need to talk to you for a minute," Hudson said.

I gestured for Vasquez to hide in the bathroom before I got up to open the door.

"Drake . . . was I . . . wrong trying to defend you?"

"No. I don't think it was the right place for you to blurt it out like a crazy person, but, no, you're not wrong." I folded my arms over my chest and leaned against the doorway. "Russell and Apone aren't pissed, are they?"

"Nope. Russell is in his quarters and Apone asked Hicks if getting you a medal is really worth all this."

"Well, it's not," I muttered. "I don't want that medal. I don't deserve it. I don't care if you think I saved your life. I couldn't prevent you from getting shipped overseas to be used as Hornby's guinea pig, and I can't help you because I can't help myself. No, that stupid medal isn't worth any of this!" I shut the door in Hudson's face, anger creating a dull ache in my chest.

* * *

During lunch, I went to Russell's room, and knocked on the door while going over my composure. If I looked or acted angry, I was never going to get my point across. If I cried, my efforts were meaningless.

"Come on in," Russell said.

I opened the door to find him seated at a desk, going through a short stack of documents. "Sir, can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure, Drake. What is it?" He didn't look up from the desk.

I took a deep breath. "Sir . . . I don't want the medal."

Russell paused what he was doing, and then looked at me. "What'd you say?"

"I don't want the medal for bravery. That's what I said."

"You don't want the medal." Russell turned his chair to face me, his arms folded over his chest. "Why not?"

"Because I don't deserve it."

"Elaborate, son; why don't you deserve it?"

"I'm not brave. Sure, I pulled Hudson out of that building, but I couldn't stop him from being used for experiments by Doctor Hornby." A lump was starting to form in my throat, and I stopped myself from going on about how I blacked out in front of him last night and how I panicked in the pool. _If he suspects I have post-traumatic stress, he'll want me to get evaluated. If the evaluation comes out positive for PTSD, I'll lose my job. I don't have my diploma. I can't get another job. Plus, what if I lose my chance to complete my GED because I got kicked out of the Marines?_

"You still pulled Hudson out of that building," Russell replied. "Given what you've been through, I'd say that shows a lot of bravery. Corporal Hicks is a competent soldier; I've given him plenty of medals since he signed up, so I'm not going to immediately dismiss his claim that you should get a medal for saving Hudson."

I nodded a little, and then stood up, feeling like I had gotten nowhere.

* * *

Lunch had ended by the time I entered the mess hall, so I decided to head back to my room to work on the test. I put the AC on "low," and sat on the bed, opening the booklet to where I left off.

I had a small sense of determination to complete this. This was my key to having a chance at living a normal life. It didn't change the fact that I was once a prisoner, convicted of murder and grand theft auto. It didn't change the fact that I had fucked up my second chance multiple times. But, it was something. Something was better than nothing. I'm tired of feeling like nothing.

The English section was relatively easy, except for the questions involving poetry and the names of parts of words and sentences, and I hope to never again read the short story about a little girl and her puppy buying a dress for a birthday party and answer twenty questions about finding examples of verbs, grammar, and you get the picture.

I will, however, take that over the mathematics section. Of course, the first ten questions or so was stuff I learned in elementary school, and it only got harder from there. There were symbols and words I didn't understand at all, and it quickly became frustrating. The frustration was draining, and I decided to put my pen down for the day. I had finished a decent amount, but I needed to stop before I drove myself up the wall.

 _How long have I been here?_ I looked at the clock, which read two-thirty in the afternoon. Were we not doing anything today? Usually we'd start some light PT or do some target practice, but no one came to my door telling me it was time for either.

After hiding the test, I put a clean shirt on, turned the AC off, and left the room. It looked as though everyone else was in their rooms, and that didn't feel normal. With that in mind, I went to Apone's quarters, and asked why we were doing nothing.

"Thunderstorm coming in," Apone replied. "Rest of the day is yours."

"Thanks, sir. Can I go into Brisbane?"

"What for?"

"I'd like to talk with Delhoun."

"Talk to him or play with all his rodent babies?"

"Most likely both, sir."

Sighing, Apone said, "Be back before curfew."

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: Would Vasquez think differently if she actually met Miranda and heard her side of the story, or is it more likely she'd remain suspicious and/or upset with Drake?_

 _Author's Note: I think the pool scene should have been a lot more tense. After all, not everything can be conveyed through dialogue, but the scene kept getting stuck and I needed to move on.  
_

 _This was probably a boring chapter overall, even though we had Drake having his mental and physical strength tested, followed almost immediately by Vasquez confronting him about who this "woman in D.C." was, then going to Russell to, once again, claim he doesn't deserve the medal of bravery. Hey, you're not supposed to make the road easy for your protagonist, but there is a limit to how many speedbumps and potholes you can put in that road before you realize your character really wants to quit._


	5. Chapter 5

They sky had begun to darken when I entered Brisbane, but it was still warm and a little humid. I got a taxi to Delhoun's facility, and found the gate to the Annexers' playground was wide open. All the animals were in the big tree, screaming and barking at something in the yard. When I got a closer look, I saw a confused kangaroo staring up at them.

"What the hell's going on?" I asked when I saw Delhoun emerge from the building with a tranquilizer gun.

"Bloody kangaroo got in the yard," he replied. "Second time this has happened this season."

"Have you tried chasing it out?"

"Yeah. It turned around and kicked me so hard I almost slipped a rib." Delhoun put the scope to his eye. I heard air being suddenly pushed out of a chamber, and the kangaroo was lying asleep in the grass not too long after. "Help me put him in the back of my car so I can take him out of the city."

After helping Delhoun carefully lay the kangaroo in the backseat of his jeep, I got in the passenger seat. "Hey, do you know a General Russell?"

"General Russell? I believe I met him once, rather briefly. Why do you ask?" Delhoun said while putting his seatbelt on.

"He's staying at the base for a few days to see whether or not I should get a medal for rescuing Hudson. He doesn't fuck around, that's for sure, and he's doing whatever he can to see if I'm physically and mentally fit. Take note, he's just embarrassing _me_ , not anybody else."

"Well, you're the supposed recipient of this medal. Of course he's going to test you."

"I don't like it. He's . . . He's doing things that aggravate my memories."

"Why don't you explain this to him?"

"Because I don't want anyone to suspect I have PTSD. I don't have my diploma, so I can't get a job if I get kicked out of the Marines."

"How far along are you on the test?"

"I got up to the mathematics section."

"Are you having trouble?"

"Yeah."

"Bring it to me tomorrow and I'll help you out."

I snorted. "You? And math?"

"Drake, I had the misfortune of having math as a course for all four years of high school while growing up in Winnipeg. When I moved to Toronto for college, I was forced to take a general math course along with my major. If you need help, I'll give it to you. At least I can use some of that pointless knowledge."

"OK. I guess I'll come over with my test."

We stopped in a field outside of Brisbane, and Delhoun directed me while carrying the kangaroo to a secluded area. "Set him down . . . gently . . . Good! Hopefully, he'll stay out of my yard for the next month or so."

"How come the Annexers don't attack kangaroos?"

"Kangaroos aren't predators to them. Not to mention the Annexers I have aren't wild. The majority of them were bred in captivity. They retain a lot of natural instincts, but they are very passive when it comes to humans."

I nodded. "Have you heard anything from Aran?"

"No, sorry."

"Poor guy. I hope he's OK."

When we got back to the facility, Delhoun closed the gate to the yard, and starting herding the Annexers inside, just in time for the rain to start falling. "You can come in, too, Drake!"

"I have to get back before curfew!" I called over the rain.

"The ferries are shut down in this weather! I'll phone Apone and tell him you're with me!"

I sighed while entering the building. Delhoun was putting each Annexer back in their kennels, and Winnie was perched on a table, cooing at me. I sat in a chair, suddenly feeling exhausted. My stomach began rumbling, reminding me that I had skipped lunch in order to make a pathetic argument to Russell about that stupid medal.

Delhoun went back into the hall the hang his keys on a hook, and gave Winnie a pat on the head before looking at me. "You look tired," he said.

"Don't point out the obvious," I groaned.

"Well, what else is there to say? I merely stated that you look tired." Delhoun opened the door to his office. "I've got dinner made, if you're hungry."

I didn't put up any argument, knowing that I couldn't win an argument to save my life, so I followed Delhoun to his living space. The rain was pelting heavily against the roof, and it sounded like it was getting heavier.

"I'm guessing the power will go out, temporarily," Delhoun said. "Not now, but probably within the next ten minutes or so. Good thing I just finished cooking." He glanced at me after taking a pot off the stove. "Would it be less obvious of me to say that you look like you have a lot on your mind, Drake?"

"I don't know," I sighed. "I just . . . don't want to answer any questions right now."

I was glad Delhoun respected that, but I hated the silence that accompanied it. An occasional crash of thunder would break the silence, or an Annexer screeching. I tried not to go too deep into my head, but I didn't want to focus on my basic needs, especially when the richness of Delhoun's shrimp alfredo prompted the thought of a few nights ago when the other Marines said my experience in D.C. made me "too good for the cornbread." With that, I pushed the plate away. "I can't eat," I said.

"Why? What's wrong?" Delhoun asked.

"I can't eat this. It's . . . It's . . . I just shouldn't be eating like I was in D.C."

"Can you explain your reasoning?"

"It isn't like what we normally eat in the Marines. I don't want to be seen as someone who'll only eat quality stuff like this."

"Drake, is this something that you're convincing yourself, or did someone actually say something to you?"

"Vasquez made a joke, and everyone else thought it was funny."

"Well, you shouldn't be letting stuff like that get to you. It's not a big deal. I'm sure the rest of your squad would love to eat quality food for once. You shouldn't feel bad just because you had better food than them. It doesn't make you better or worse. Also, thank you for saying my food is 'quality.'"

"You're welcome. I dunno, it also ties into the fact that Vasquez is tired of me going places on my own, whether it's by choice or not. I ended up . . . spilling the beans about Miranda Harrison to her, and I'm afraid it's put a dent in our relationship."

"At least you were honest about what happened, right?"

"It hurt either way."

"Honesty's better than covering it up. If you had kept it covered for much longer, you would've had no chance in convincing Vasquez that you're not having an affair with Miranda."

"Look, it's bad enough I had to pretend to love Miranda, but I'm just glad I didn't have to stick it out any longer. What if she really wanted to get serious about it, and wanted to sleep with me?"

"You want my honest opinion?" Delhoun asked.

"Yeah."

"Number one, thank God you didn't get to that point. Number two, the intimate details would remain between you and Miranda only. That is not something you should tell Vasquez."

"I think she's already afraid I did something like that, and . . . I'm afraid that I've been . . . a bad boyfriend."

"Well, you did pretend to have a relationship with another girl, so-"

"I did that for Hudson."

"That aside, you still pretended to love another girl. You can't keep playing the Hudson card."

"It's not just that. Even if I didn't encounter Miranda, Vasquez is still upset over the fact that I keep leaving. She even told me that she feels like she's waiting for the day I walk away forever."

"Have you made any attempts to spend more time with her?"

"I can't. We're watched every single day. If we get a chance, it doesn't last long."

"Ah, I see. You'll have to work around that, somehow. Do little things that show you care. That's the best advice I can give."

* * *

I wasn't going to return to base until the next morning, after the storm had cleared. Despite living in his facility, Delhoun only had enough room for himself, and when I saw his actual living space, I was a little surprised. A large classroom had been converted into a bedroom, arguably one of the most messy bedrooms I've ever seen, and probably the biggest confirmation that Delhoun is a bachelor. The teacher's desk was pressed up against the wall, to the right of a good-sized TV, and on it was an open laptop, a brush full of Winnie's fur, and a bottle of sunscreen specially designed for people with albinism. Clipboards were on the floor or on the desk, and there were stuffed animals covered in teeth marks. Squeaky toys were gathered in a basket next to the bed, which I don't think has ever been made.

Delhoun opened a massive drawer on a couch under the window, and pulled out a blanket and pillow. "Don't mind the mess, Drake. Never have enough time in my day to clean anything," he said.

"It's OK," I replied, taking the blanket and laying it on the couch. "Reminds me of my life right now."

Winnie trotted into the room, waited for Delhoun to grab his laptop and get in bed, and then removed her helmet. She went over to the basket and took out a rubber duck before going over to me and setting the duck on the couch.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Play with her, Drake," Delhoun replied.

Sighing, I took the duck and left the room, hurling the duck down the hall. Winnie sprinted after it, snatched it in her jaws, and ran back over to me to drop the duck in front of my boots. Again, I picked it up, and threw it down the hall. Winnie raced back to me, dropping the duck.

"Can I go to bed now?" I asked, picking up the duck.

Winnie got on her back legs, grunting while trying to get the duck.

"Oh, alright." I tossed the duck again, watching Winnie sprint toward it. Taking the opportunity of her being all the way down the hall, I went back into Delhoun's room, and flopped on the couch. Delhoun was reading work emails and watching hockey. "How the hell are you getting Canadian broadcasts all the way down here in Australia?" I said while getting comfortable.

"Knowing people who work with high-powered satellites," Delhoun replied. "It doesn't get every channel in Canada, just the national broadcasts. The bad news is that the extremely high range means I'm getting channels everywhere in between here and Canada as well, so I have to keep flipping. By the time I get what I want, the show's half-over."

A second later, the power went out. An eerie silence dropped on the building like a heavy blanket. Several Annexers began howling or chirping down the hall, and then Delhoun's android, a low-quality abomination created by the now-defunct company Seegson, walked into the room. "Sir, there's been a power outage. Would you like me to turn on the backup generator?"

"No, thank you," Delhoun said. "It shouldn't last too long. You can retire for the night."

"Good night, sir." The android turned and left.

Delhoun pressed some buttons on a control pad to make sure nothing would abruptly turn back on while we were sleeping, and set it on his nightstand. "Well, have a good night, Drake."

"You, too," I replied, putting my head on the pillow. It wasn't the world's most comfy pillow, definitely not like the ones at the Marriott in Washington, but it would do.

Even though I've visited Delhoun before, I still had the sensation of being in a strange place, making it hard to sleep. What made it worse was the silence, and the only sounds were Delhoun's breathing and my heartbeat. I tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position.

I managed to doze off for an hour. When my eyes opened again, I heard the gentle hum of air conditioners and fans and primary generators. Finally, some noise.

Winnie came in the room, sniffing the ground. The squeaking of her rubber duck disrupted the steadiness of the other sounds, but it stopped when she dropped it in her toy basket. She sniffed Delhoun's blanket, and then hopped on the bed, nosing around her master. After five minutes of her looking over every inch of the bed, she snuggled up against Delhoun's back. I sighed, trying to get some more sleep.

When I managed to get some deep sleep, it wasn't at all restful. I saw myself alone in a room, while having trouble breathing and swallowing. Saliva was running down the sides of my mouth, and had formed puddles on the floor. I was grabbing at my throat and trying to call for help at the same time. I felt like a baseball was lodged in the upper part of my throat, and I was trying to scream.

I forced myself to stand. I had to leave the room. I needed help. I must be dead already.

I pushed open a door, seeing a long, dark, empty hallway. There was no light at the end. Hopelessness surged over me like a wave, and I collapsed.

It had felt so real that when I jolted awoke, I flung my hands to my neck and screamed. Winnie bolted from the room, and Delhoun jumped out of bed to see what was wrong. "Drake, are you alright?"

I took a deep breath, trying to convince myself I was OK. "Couldn't breathe . . ." I gasped. "Couldn't breathe at all."

"It was just a nightmare," Delhoun said. "You'll be alright. Take a deep breath . . . Easy now, not too hard."

My heart was still racing after my breathing slowed down a bit. Tears began streaming down my face, and thoughts began to flood my head. I wondered what would've happened if I was on base, alone in my room. What if I had been with Vasquez? What if the whole base had heard me scream? What if Hudson was having the same nightmare?

Personally, I was glad this happened with Delhoun. He didn't ask what was wrong; he knew that I was having nightmares because of what happened with the silver flowers.

While Delhoun was getting me a glass of water, I looked at a clock. It was only two in the morning, and suddenly I felt awful for waking him at such an ungodly hour. It wasn't my fault, though. _It's just my . . . PTSD,_ I thought.

"Feeling better?" Delhoun asked when he came back with the water.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

"Don't be sorry," he replied. "Dreams aren't something you can control. Nightmares, especially." He climbed back in bed, turning the lamp off. "Did you want to talk?"

"No. I want to sleep." I put the empty glass on the windowsill, and laid back down, pulling the blanket up to my face. Gradually, my heartbeat returned to normal pace, and I finally fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

The first voice I heard in the morning was that of an Australian meteorologist, saying that today was going to be bright, sunny, and pleasantly warm for a winter day. Delhoun was sitting up in bed, on his laptop, and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "Good morning, Drake. Sleep well?"

"Not at all," I grunted while stretching.

"My apologies. I got an email from Apone twenty minutes ago. He said that you are to be back before ten AM and you're going to be punished for not returning before the curfew."

I sighed. "Are you kidding me? There was a fucking thunderstorm last night! Why am I being punished?"

"Russell's orders."

"Why?"

"Doesn't say. Sorry, Drake."

I got off the couch, and began searching the mess of a room for my boots. "Where the fuck did you put my boots?"

"Will you calm down?" Delhoun asked. "Winnie probably took them to get her scent on them."

"Don't tell me she fucking peed on them!"

"Drake, will you quit the f-bombs and think through this rationally? Getting mad isn't going to solve anything. By the way, no; urinating isn't the only means of an Annexer putting their scent on something. Winnie most likely just rubbed her chin on them."

I took a breath, then looked down to see my boots near the door. Sighing irritably, I sat on the couch to put them on.

"Your shirt's on my desk chair."

After tying the laces, I stood up and yanked my shirt off the back of the chair. "I'm going back to base."

"Don't you want breakfast?"

"No."

"OK, then. Have a nice day, Drake," Delhoun said, going back to his work.

I was about to leave the room when Winnie began cooing at me from Delhoun's bed. She didn't seem happy that I accused her of taking my boots, but she also didn't want me to leave so soon.

"Drake is really bitchy right now," Delhoun said, stroking Winnie's head. "You really want him to stay?" He looked at me. "Clearly, Winnie wants you to stay a little longer. You wouldn't want to disappoint her, would you?"

I sighed. "I'd rather disappoint her than get an even harder punishment from Russell." I turned to head down the hallway, and paused when I came to the room with all the kennels. _The last thing I want is to look like I had a good time here. I don't want to be accused of seeking opportunities for luxury._ I stepped into the kennel room, seeking out the cage of Dakota, an Annexer rescued from a dogfighting ring. Her experience had left her distrustful of people to the point where she would violently attack anyone who got too close to her. She was sleeping in her cage with her four little ones nestled against her.

I went to Delhoun's office, and took his keys from a hook. Nervously, I went back over to the cage, and stuck one of the keys in the lock. I heard a snort, and saw Dakota lifting her masked head. She turned to face me, and shoved her babies behind her before crouching, her tail lashing back and forth.

"Look," I said, softly. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Not gonna hurt you at all. I want you to hurt me."

Dakota screeched at me before lunging out of the kennel.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: If Aran was around, would he have tried to help Drake whenever Russell tested him, or would he stay in the background, thinking Drake needed to learn on his own?_

 _Author's Note: The tension-relief chapter. These are hit-or-miss because their main purpose is to break the tension of the plot, but they can seem very distracting. I liked showing the little aspects of Delhoun's life. Definitely the last kind of living space you'd expect from someone working for Weyland-Yutani._


	6. Chapter 6

Blood had almost completely soaked the top part of my shirt. Dakota's claws had ripped it from my left shoulder to the base of my sternum, leaving long cuts in their wake. The shirt was just about ruined, but I was able to fashion it into a cloth bandage to tie around my chest and over my shoulder. At least she didn't dig her claws deep into my skin, so it wouldn't scar too badly. No one was going to accuse me of searching for the lap of luxury now.

When I entered the base, I saw Apone and Russell sitting in the visitors' processing room, both of them glaring at me. A droplet of blood escaped my shirt-bandage, leaving a warm, wet trail down my torso. They weren't looking at the blood or the bandage, though.

"Drake, what part of 'be back before the curfew' don't you understand?" Apone asked, calmly.

"The ferries don't run in bad weather, Sarge," I said.

"Does anyone give a rat's ass?" Russell asked. "You're a Marine; if you're separated from your unit, you find a way to get back to them, no matter what. And what's this I hear you had shelter with Doctor Delhoun?"

"Yes, sir. Delhoun and I are friends. He was in charge of me when I got in trouble last month."

"Did you have a good time with him? Did he spoil you with pancakes and Canadian bacon?"

I said nothing. I knew he wasn't trying to insult Delhoun; he was trying to see if I interpreted that as such.

"Drake, you're a disgrace to the United Systems Colonial Marine Corps. Take that piece of cloth off, get a real bandage from Bishop, and then get your ass back over here. I'm gonna work you until you can't work anymore. I'm gonna work you until you feel like garbage. That'll teach you to be so smug about yourself. That'll teach you to stop acting so fucking modest about your fucking medal. That'll teach you to stop thinking about yourself and think about what you've done for others. You saved a man's life, Drake, and you can't seem to understand how much that means to him." Russell stood up to get in my face. "You haven't made one move since I started talking." He slowly nodded. "Good boy. I guess being in prison actually did something for you."

I took a breath, again not saying a word. Would I really have to spill the beans about my PTSD for him to understand?

"Now, go get that bandage and get back here."

* * *

Bishop was quiet while cleaning the cuts. He occasionally glanced at me, but remained silent until he took out a roll of tape to hold the bandage down. "What happened?" he asked.

"Pissed off an Annexer," I said.

"Ah. Vasquez was asking where you were last night. Said she wanted to talk to you about cleaning your smartguns."

I knew "cleaning smartguns" was code for "I want to talk to you about something personal." In a way, that made me smile, because she still wanted to talk to me. Then again, there was a part of me that was afraid she was considering breaking up with me over everything that's happened. "I'll have to find her later, then. Right now, Russell wants to deal with me."

After the bandage was taped down, I left sick bay, still feeling the sting of the rubbing alcohol. That was going to be nothing compared to whatever Russell had in store for me. I went back to the processing room, where Russell gestured for me to follow him outside. "Did you eat breakfast?"

"No, sir," I said.

"Well, you're not getting any today! Get on the ground and hold yourself in the plank position."

I did, feeling like this wouldn't be much of an issue. It didn't take very long for my muscles to become sore, especially in the area I was injured, but Russell wasn't letting me up until he said so.

"Complain, and I'll kick you in the ribs. Better yet, I'll kick you right in your soft belly."

I figured the best thing to do was say nothing. When I felt like my muscles were going to give up, Russell told me to stand.

"Not bad. Here, I'll give you a stick of gum." Russell held out the stick, then hurled it away. "Go find it."

I was on my hands and knees, searching for the gum. The thing about Australia is that it has a lot of creatures that'll do some damage to you, including the infamous fire ant. They were everywhere, and I kept getting stung. At one point, I got up, swatting at myself to get the ants off. Even when I got them off, more would climb on when I started looking in a new area.

An hour went by when Russell said, "Drake, I didn't throw the gum."

I wanted to start crying, but I couldn't.

Russell made me lift weights, run, push over tires, swim, and balance on a thin beam over the course of the next several hours. He claimed this was a "make-up" for the time I lost when I was in D.C. I continued to be quiet. Nothing I could ever say would be helpful. I just had to keep going.

I began to feel like I was tied to a chair again, sitting in the abandoned warehouse somewhere in downtown Washington, but I was wearing myself out instead of doing nothing. I didn't even have time to think, which made me feel like I wasn't pushing myself forward when it came to my past and my traumatic memories. In fact, I felt like I ran into a brick wall when I was running laps around the base; there were no trees for cover, so I couldn't hide. I couldn't stop to collect myself. Upon realizing that, I wondered just how close I was to actually quitting.

I was covered in red marks, the bandage had fallen off, bruises spotted my limbs, and I was sore in every way imaginable. Somehow, Russell wasn't getting tired of this, because he said I was going to be worked until I passed out, and I hadn't passed out yet.

* * *

I think it was almost sunset when my body finally quit on me. I don't exactly remember all that had happened, other than the fact that I felt like someone set me on fire.

Wanting to quit is different than actually quitting, I realized. When you want to quit, your energy stores still have a lot left in them. When you actually quit, there's nothing, and you can't run on adrenaline forever.

I woke up in sick bay, being tended to by Bishop, who was dabbing a very cold substance over all the little red welts left by the fire ants. I couldn't seem to move, and every time I did, a shooting pain was present. Even grunting was painful.

"I want to sleep," I groaned. God, this was _exactly_ like the abandoned warehouse, but at least then I wasn't in so much pain. It was like someone beat my arms and legs with a hammer.

"I'll give you a morphine shot when I'm done," Bishop replied.

I think it took him way too long to clean each of the welts, but he said it was going to be worth it in the morning. As promised, he gave me light painkiller so I could sleep, and all I could do was pray this didn't piss off Russell.

* * *

My dreams wouldn't let me rest that night. I first saw myself laying on a surfboard in the ocean. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the beach, and tried to turn around to get back. A gentle wave began pushing me further out to sea, and I gave up trying to go back. The shore became more and more faint, but the warmth of the sun on my back was relaxing. I rested my head on my arms, thinking I was going to be pushed back, eventually. The tide had to be coming soon.

It never came. I kept drifting away. Furiously, I tried to paddle my way back, but it was impossible. Again, I gave up.

I was going to be rescued, right? Definitely not. Who would miss me? I'm not important.

The warmth gradually disappeared. I looked around to see icebergs dotting the horizon. The water was cold, and I wondered where I was. Somewhere up north, I suppose. Worst of all, I was all alone.

As I got closer to the icebergs, I saw there were holes in them, like windows. In those windows were people I knew, some I had long forgotten. A kid I barely remember from eighth grade jeered, "Mark can't swim! Mark can't swim! You idiot, you can't even dog-paddle!" He laughed hysterically.

A teacher from my freshman year looked out the window of her iceberg, and said, "Mark Drake, you have potential. That I can tell from this essay. Why can't you put that same amount of effort into anything else you do? If you keep this up, you'll fail."

A girl with long, blonde hair said, "Who, Mark? I'm not letting him in the school newspaper. No, I won't even interview him. I haven't seen any good come out of him."

A group of boys yelled, "Come on, Drake! Get up and fight, you little dirtbag!"

"What's he got going for him anyways? He flirts with the girls and dumps them three days later. He'll be a lonely nobody for sure." A dark girl in a flowing red dress laughed. "Don't fall for his tricks. He's the shittiest fox I've ever seen. Not sly, not clever, just dumb."

The drill instructor from boot camp shouted, "Dammit, Drake, if you start crying, I'll beat your face in till you can't cry anymore! I don't wanna see one droplet from you! Every time you cry, you lose your potential!"

"If you can't put the work in, then I want you to quit," Apone said. "Do you see anyone else here laying on their ass all day?"

"If you weren't so weak, I could've gotten more out of you!" Russell shouted.

I wanted it all to stop. "I know, I did some things wrong! I've changed! Please forgive me!"

"Fuck you!" someone yelled. "You shoulda thought of that earlier!"

I wasn't going to persuade anybody. That's just how the world works.

When I finally woke up, most of the welts had healed, but the scratches from Dakota were still there. At least they were healing well. I knew I was physically OK, but my mind was a whole different story. Maybe people would think of me differently if they knew I had PTSD. It seems to be an unwritten rule that you be a lot nicer to someone who's suffering. Then again, you have to be aware of the suffering for that to take place. I didn't want to scream from the rooftops that I'm suffering. At this point in time, who is going to believe me?

* * *

I left sick bay wishing I could squeeze every thought out of my brain the way you wring out a towel, but I also wished I could stop feeling beat down all the time. Since I had nothing to do, I grabbed my swim trunks from my room and headed to the pool. No one was there, and that was perfect.

After changing, I strolled over to the deep end. My heart was already pounding, and something was telling me to turn back.

Fuck that. I'm not turning back. I have to do this.

I had also taken a flak vest from the armory. It was pretty heavy, so I wouldn't have to rely on bracing myself to the wall. Once the vest was strapped in place, I climbed into the water. I didn't sink right to the bottom, but I wasn't coming to the surface. I was floating, and holding my breath.

Looking through the goggles at my watch, I counted fifteen seconds. My heart was pounding, and I could feel the painful memories creeping around me like a predatory animal. _Not today,_ I thought. _Not today._

My chest began tightening. Fifteen seconds passed. I can make it to thirty. I made the mistake of closing my eyes, because I was starting to hear the frantic voices, the beeping of machinery, and I could almost feel the defibrillator being slammed against my chest. Involuntarily, I jolted.

I tried not to move too much after snapping from my memories, because that requires oxygen. A shadow loomed over me, and I saw Hudson staring down at me. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it a second later. He watched me for a second or two before sitting on the deck.

I smiled. Someone was going to see me succeed. The pain in my chest steadily got worse as I looked at my watch. Thirty seconds went by, and I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed myself upward, gasping for breath. "Thirty seconds!" I said. "Thirty seconds. That's twice what I did two days ago."

"Why're doing this to yourself?" Hudson asked.

I got out of the pool, unstrapping the vest. "Because I have to."

"Why do you 'have to?'"

"It's the only way I'm not going to be afraid of my own memories anymore. I was a little scared that time, but I did it. I'm gonna do it again tomorrow, and the day after that, until Russell says I did a good job and means it."

Hudson bit his lip. "Drake, I gotta tell you something."

"What?"

"Russell left this morning. He's gonna send you a message about that medal. He was talking at breakfast earlier and said he's gonna give his notes to some guys in Brisbane 'bout whether or not you've earned it." He broke eye contact with me. "I stood up and said you deserve it. You pulled me out of that building, and you didn't need to go through more shit just to get a hunk of metal with a colored ribbon. I said, 'This is coming from the guy Drake rescued, so please take my word for it.'"

"You really said that?"

Looking up at me, Hudson nodded.

"Hey, don't feel obliged to stand up for me." I paused, realizing I could easily put myself down. "But, you can if you want to. I get it; we went through a similar experience and we have the same problems now. Have your nightmares . . . gotten worse or better?"

"Not worse and not better. Same shit every night. How about you?"

I sighed. "Well, last night, I watched a bunch of people jeer at me over the fact that I've accomplished nothing and that I was a horrible person in high school. I said that I've changed, but they told me to fuck off."

"Huh. I kinda assumed you were the quiet person who didn't take any shit when you were in high school."

"Uh, no. That's not the case, and I don't want to talk about it." I started heading toward the locker room.

"That's OK, man. Oh, Vasquez wants to talk to you. Something about cleaning your smartguns. She really wants to clean smartguns with you, for some reason. Hasn't let go of that for the last day or so."

* * *

I found Vasquez in the armory, sitting on a bench with her weapon. After I closed the door behind me, she pushed the flak jacket from my hands, threw her arms around me, and kissed me, pinning me against the door in the process. I was still really sore from yesterday, and I hoped no one outside heard me grunt in pain. Vasquez gave me a second to breathe, and then kissed me again. Love and relief and a hint of passion flooded me. For a short moment, I was happy. I hugged Vasquez tightly, kissing her as well.

"What's your reasoning behind this?" I whispered.

"Do I have to have a reason? I wanted to see you when you got back from Delhoun's, and then you had to stay because of the weather. Then Russell wanted to punish you for not making an attempt to come back before the curfew. I didn't think he was going to work you _all day_ yesterday!" Vasquez tightened her grip on me. "I don't know why . . . but I don't want to let go."

"Then, don't let go," I said, softly. "I love you." I nuzzled her forehead with mine. "I'm not leaving, I promise."

Honestly, this was the best we could do. I was afraid any conversation we had would quickly turn into arguing over how I'm stuck in the past. We both remained silent, simply enjoying each other's company.

"Why can't we do this more often?" Vasquez whispered.

"Because people might get suspicious," I replied. "Trust me, I want to do more with you. If it wasn't such a hassle to get to the mainland, I'd sneak out with you later and we could have dinner and sit on the beach. Unless, of course, that's too sappy for you."

"I'm worried it's too sappy for _you_."

I smirked. "Nah. I got used to it when I was faking with Miranda in D.C."

Vasquez slapped me.

"Aww, I can't joke around with you? I didn't say I liked it." I kissed her again. "Well, if you don't think my idea is sappy, we should try it someday."

"You're not afraid of getting caught?"

"We got in trouble in boot camp all the time. What's the difference with this?"

"The fact that you painted a massive target on your back."

"But, you'll be there, too. It'll be like old times."

"Drake-"

"Do you trust me?"

"I trust you."

"Then let's make a date. Please? It'll be fun."

I think something deep down was telling Vasquez that we should do this for the sake of our relationship. We never did anything in the sense of a traditional "date night" before, because it was impossible. I felt like we needed to do this just to be around each other, and talk to each other, because as I said before, I felt like we were falling apart.

Not to mention, I knew Delhoun would probably help us out.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: Out of everyone who's helped, or tried to help Drake, whose advice seems to be working the most?_

 _Author's Note: This chapter imploded on itself numerous times. First with Russell's punishment, and second with Drake's nightmare. I was certain I had a better idea with both scenes, but after coming up with absolutely nothing better, I left them in, hoping that they make sense to everyone else and don't make the chapter feel rushed and choppy.  
_

 _I don't know why I'm not getting the same satisfaction I got from the previous two stories. "Grey Hearts" felt like a massive improvement and flowed nicely from "Humidity Ghosts." Overall, this story feels like a giant filler chapter for whatever I want to work on next. At least people are enjoying it.  
_

 _The main plot was supposed to be about the GED test, but there's only so much you can do with that, especially as a primary plot point. Frankly, I'm disappointed in myself for not sticking to that and allowing the story to go all over the place._


	7. Chapter 7

As promised, Delhoun helped me out with the math portion of the test. It's been a few years since he's done any of this, so I wasn't going to be upset if we got some things wrong. We spent several hours going through just about every problem, and I felt stupid every time something took longer than five minutes. Delhoun made sure I didn't feel stupid, but I felt bad for making him explain something two or three times.

"Frankly, if you know how to add, subject, multiply, and divide, that's good enough for me," Delhoun said. "Some people actually get enjoyment out of doing stuff like this. My guess as to why is that they were dropped on the head as a baby." He sighed. "Look, you have my notes. Take that with you if you're leaving."

I put the test back in the envelope for the trip back to base, but I needed one more thing from Delhoun before leaving. "Can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure. Ask all the favors you want."

"I'm trying to go on a real date with Vasquez, but I don't know how to get her into Brisbane without people getting suspicious."

Delhoun nodded. "Easy. I'll send a message to Apone asking for you, her, and Hudson."

"Wait, why Hudson?"

"It would look far less suspicious if a third person was sent along. Plus, while you and Vasquez go enjoy yourselves, I can keep Hudson busy with some pet therapy. Problem solved. Just give me a day and time."

"Tomorrow night. Five o'clock."

"Make it four. It'll give you two more time before your curfew."

"Done." I tucked the envelope under my arm, and was about to leave when a question that had been on the back of my mind surfaced. "Have you . . . ever been in love?"

"Me?" Delhoun pointed to himself.

"No, Winnie." I snorted. "Yes, you."

Delhoun bit his tongue. "Yes, actually. Three times, and all of them not ending well."

"Geez, what happened?"

"Well, the first time was when I was a senior in high school. When you're the only albino in the entire building, it's very hard to remain low-key, and the last several years were difficult because I had some issues with my vision. Now, I wasn't picked on, but I knew that everyone could see that I was making odd movements with my head just so I could see and read the damn board. Even after I had surgery to fix that, it was always on the back of my mind. You know, I was different, but I didn't want to be lumped in with the special-ed kids-kind of different. I brought up the courage to ask a girl to the autumn dance we had every year. She said yes, and I wondered just what the hell I had gotten myself into. Again, I didn't want to look weird, so I tried my best to make sure that her and I remained together afterward."

"And did you?"

"No. She saw someone who looked far better than me and left the dance with him."

I winced. "That's gotta hurt."

"It didn't hurt too bad. I barely knew her. Anyway, the second time was when I just left college in Toronto. I remember I went to a bar, got a little drunk, and woke up the next morning to find a lady visiting from Spain in my bed while I was on the couch. Now, nothing happened, and I found out that the two of us had started talking, and the deeper the conversation got, the more we drank. When we had a real conversation with no alcohol, we apologized to each other, and I thought that was it. It turned out that this woman liked me, and we starting dating. It was wonderful up until I found out she was married and she had ran away from Barcelona. I had to call it off because the whole thing became incredibly messy for me."

"OK, that definitely sucks."

"I'm not finished. It gets worse. The third and final time I tried dating was shortly after I got Winnie. I met a woman when I returned to Canada for a few months, and at first she seemed very sweet and understanding. Then, when her birthday came up, she demanded to know why I didn't get her anything. I said, 'I'm busy. Plus, I didn't know today was your birthday.' She stormed out of my apartment and didn't come back. Well, a few days later, I come back from the grocery store to see the door's unlocked. I walk in, and there's blood all over the carpet. This woman's in my bedroom, cornered next to the window while Winnie's screeching and barking at her. Turns out, she tried to rob me, and Winnie attacked her." Delhoun rubbed Winnie's head. "You're a good girl. That's why I kept you."

"So, you've really been down on your luck when it comes to dating," I said.

"Pretty much. I think the right person will come along when I least expect it."

"You got a good personality. Someone will appreciate that."

"Well, here's the problem, Drake; I work for Weyland-Yutani. I make a lot of money. I'm going to get more gold-diggers than I will get people looking for a serious relationship."

"You have to look in the right place, then. Don't get me wrong, though, because I have no idea what the 'right place' is for you." I adjusted my grip on the envelope and turned toward the front doors. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes. I'll send Apone a message in the morning. Would you like me to make reservations at a restaurant for you and Vasquez?"

"Sure."

"Anything in particular?"

"Um . . . surprise me."

* * *

I was a little surprised to find Hicks waiting for me in front of the base. Without a word, he took me aside, leading me to a secluded area. I could hear the loud buzzing of the washing machines through the wall, so I wondered if Hicks wanted this conversation to be private and unheard by anyone inside.

"Can I ask you something, Drake?" Hicks said, folding his arms over his chest.

"Yeah. What?" I replied.

"I happened to look at the security camera feed in the pool area yesterday, and saw you going in there with a flak jacket. You submerged yourself. A few seconds later, you were joined by Hudson, and pulled yourself out of the pool. Were you trying to drown yourself?"

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. From my point-of-view, the question was stupid, but I could kind of see where Hicks was coming from. At the same time, I couldn't. I haven't really left any hints regarding my state of mind, especially when it came to my PTSD. Where did Hicks get this idea from? "No, I wasn't."

"Are you telling the truth?"

"Yes."

"You realize it's just the two of us. No one can hear us, and I won't say anything to Apone. If something's bothering you, please tell me. Suicide isn't a damn joke."

I started thinking back to the morning in Washington when I told Aran he could throw me out the window if he wanted. I could picture him looking at me with concern, and shaking his head. I could picture him writing in his notebook that I shouldn't be saying stuff like that, and that I needed to talk to someone before something bad happened. I really missed him, and I wanted his advice right about now. As much as I knew Aran would want me to be honest, I still had an overwhelming desire to keep this all to myself and those I trusted. "I'm telling the truth. I wasn't trying to drown myself. I was trying to prove to myself that I could hold my breath for more than fifteen seconds."

Hicks nodded a little. "I can understand that. You also understand that I'm a little concerned about you after everything's that's happened with General Russell, right?"

My thoughts came to a screeching halt. Hicks said "I'm a little concerned," not "we're a little concerned." "I" means him, not him and the rest of the squad. I suddenly felt like every function in my body stopped. My heart had skipped a beat or two, and my brain punched my stomach to say, "How can you be worried about lunch when _this_ just happened?!" I took a moment to process everything that I heard, and said, " _You're_ concerned about me?"

"Yes. Why does that surprise you?"

A disgusting, heartless thought surfaced in my brain. It surfaced so quickly, I hardly had time to stop it from going right to my mouth. "Because you've never expressed individual concern for me before. If it's not something that impacts all of us, it doesn't matter to you."

"Drake, that's not true-"

"Really? It's not? Then where the fuck were you when Russell was forcing my head underwater and tormenting me here outside? You did _nothing_ when he kept singling me out!"

"Because I wasn't authorized to-"

"That's a shitty reason. What's more important here: your position as the corporal, or the . . . mental health of the people you work with?"

"Of course I'm concerned about your mental health. Why do you think we've been leaving Hudson alone for the past-"

"Oh, right! _Hudson._ Yes. Yes, he's definitely more important than everyone else. I know. I get it. That's OK with me. Yeah, his mental health is significantly more important than mine." I clenched my fists, feeling like venom was dripping from my mouth.

"Drake, are you sure you're OK?"

"You want my honest answer? I don't know. Frankly, I think you should just go fuck yourself for not trying to say anything until now! Don't even bothering telling Apone, because it's not gonna help. You're gonna tell him that I'm a weak link to the team. I know I am, and I don't care anymore! Why don't you just leave me alone and stop trying to push me to be a team player? I'm tired of feeling like . . . I have no personal value."

It seemed as though I just beat Hicks against the wall. He looked defeated, and decided against saying anything else. "Alright. This conversation's over."

* * *

I didn't know getting mad could be so draining. When I went into my quarters, I was very tired, and wanted nothing more than to sleep for a few hours. But, guilt had filled my empty stomach, and I simply sat on the bed, trying to endure a dull cramping sensation. I had set myself so far back, and I couldn't push myself forward. The damage had been done. Whatever punishment I get, I'm going to fully deserve it.

I didn't even bother telling Vasquez that I had gotten a plan from Delhoun regarding going out on an actual date. I wasn't even thinking about that. Tears were rolling down my face, and I felt like a truly horrible person. _All Hicks was trying to do was make sure you weren't planning on hurting yourself,_ I thought. _He cares about you, and you pushed him away. It wasn't like you simply said "no." You told him to go fuck himself. You crossed a line. You basically told him you hated him._ I took a breath, sighing as the tears dripped from my cheeks to my neck. Is it possible for me to fix this?

An hour went by before someone remembered I existed. Without knocking, Hudson quietly opened the door, and was looking at me with a disappointed expression. "Drake? Why did you tell Hicks that my mental health is more important than yours?"

Right to the point, huh? Two can play that game. "Obviously, it is. Everyone else seems to think that you're suffering more, so they leave you alone. Apone doesn't tell you that you're lazy. Hicks doesn't think you're moody. Russell wasn't up your ass for four days. They all offered you their food. They ask if you're OK. They act like you're more important."

Hudson winced a little. "Is that . . . how you've felt this whole time? You think everyone else considers me to be more important?"

"Ever since we got back from D.C., yeah."

"But . . . you . . . so you don't care? You really haven't been trying to help me?"

I shook my head. "No, I've been trying to help you. I just don't like how everyone's been treating you."

A line of silver sweat began running down the side of Hudson's face. "Dude, I stood up for you! Do you not remember that?!" In the blink of an eye, he slammed his fist into the doorway. The flushness of his face and the rapid throbbing of a vein in his neck told me that he had been bottling up a lot of aggression, unless it was psychological side effects of the medicine. "I've known you were stubborn, Drake, but I didn't think you'd remain that way if push came to shove!"

"I got tortured because I was trying to see you!"

"Yeah, well, maybe if they let you see me more often, we wouldn't have this problem! I just can't believe the one person who knows about these fucking nightmares is also convinced that everyone else in this fucking base thinks I'm royalty. I'm a Goddamn private, man! I ain't special! Then again, at least I'm not a _stubborn dickhead_ like you!"

A lot of heat seemed to be radiating off of Hudson, way too much to just be stress. "I think you need to go to sick bay," I said.

"Why? Because you don't want me telling you the truth about yourself?"

"No. You're burning up with fever. Let's go."

"I'm fine! Leave me alone!"

I threw my arms around Hudson, forcing him to move forward. "No. You're going to sick bay." As I dragged him, I placed my hand on his forehead. He really was feverish, and when we got closer to sick bay, he became limp, and continued to heat up. "Bishop!" I yelled.

Appearing around the corner, Bishop immediately rushed toward us. "What happened?"

"His fever keeps going up."

Bishop helped me carry Hudson over to a bed. "Get a cold compress and a bag of ice chips."

I did as I was told, and raced back to find Hudson moaning something incomprehensible. I wondered if this was how I looked when I developed a fever from toxic discharge.

"Drake, stay with him. I need those documents Doctor Hornby gave us," Bishop said as he left the room.

Hudson was shivering, and had stopped talking. He pressed the bag of ice harder to his forehead. "Not working . . ." he muttered.

I took his hand and squeezed it tightly. "It's OK, man, you're OK." I've already fucked up several times today. I don't want to continue that now.

Tears were running down Hudson's face. They appeared to be pure silver. He gripped my hand as well, and released his breath, starting to breathe more evenly.

Bishop returned, holding several papers and a large syringe. "I think we're gonna need to give Hornby a call," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

"We don't know what's causing the fever. Is it toxic discharge, or the medication?"

"It can't be toxic discharge. Hudson hasn't been in a cold environment. Unless he's got the AC cranked at night."

Bishop shook his head. "I check on that regularly. Can you stay while I contact Hornby?"

I nodded, figuring we didn't have much of a choice. Hornby had used Hudson for experiments regarding the silver flowers, but he's the only one we know that could possibly help us. As much as I'm not ready to forgive Hornby for putting me and Hudson through so much shit, I couldn't put Hudson's life in danger because of a personal grudge.

* * *

At least I wasn't the one who had to talk to Hornby. Bishop did all of that, carefully following Hornby's instructions over a long-distance call. Unfortunately, I had to leave the room. There was no particular reason, just Hornby ordered Bishop to make me leave. I could kind of understand why, but I also didn't. Was Hornby afraid I would come after him if something happened? Was he afraid I would start arguing with him? Did he just not want to deal with me? I mean, he was dealing with Bishop, not me.

Frankly, I didn't want to deal with Hornby, either, so I left sick bay without question. The shock had dissipated, and my usual functions were returning to normal. I had put off lunch long enough, but I wanted to get one more thing out of the way, just in case something came along to disrupt my emotions again.

I found Vasquez in her room, and I didn't hesitate or make small talk before saying, "Sweetheart, we're going on a date tomorrow night."

She gave me a confused look. "What?"

"Yeah. I talked with Delhoun and he said he could get us out of here for a few hours."

Vasquez shook her head. "I still think you're kidding."

"I'm not. Delhoun will call tomorrow, request our help with something, and we'll be on our way." I closed the door behind me so I could sit on the bed and hug her. "Please believe me? I'm trying to do something really nice for you. We've never been on a real date together. I know you don't want to hear this, but the only 'real' date I've ever been on was with Miranda in D.C.-"

"Alright, Drake! Don't say anything else!" Vasquez glared at me. "This isn't something I have to get dressed up for, is it?"

"It's with me. I wouldn't think so. I mean, I wouldn't wear a uniform, but we can't go in our PT gear." I frowned. "I'm just gonna hope Delhoun worked out the details."

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: If an outsider witnessed the conversation between Hicks and Drake, who would appear to be in the wrong? Would it look like Hicks was irritating Drake, or Drake was pushing away all attempts to help him?_


	8. Chapter 8

Things would be a little more challenging without Hudson. At least he was going to be OK, despite me not being OK with his health being put in Hornby's hands once more. From what I heard, Hornby had come to the conclusion that Hudson's sudden fever and weakness was a side effect of the medication. It wasn't something we needed to be overly concerned about, but we were right in placing Hudson under observation. However, we did need to be careful not to have Hudson in a cold room for too long, and that felt cruel; every time Bishop took Hudson out of the air-conditioned room, we were treated to groans of "It's so hot . . ."

The other reason I say things would be a little more challenging was the fact that Delhoun's original plan was for him to invite me, Vasquez, and Hudson to his facility. I worried about that all night, but when Apone received that call in the morning, he didn't argue with the fact that Vasquez and I were going to be alone together, because he felt she was going to keep me in line.

He seemed tired, and I wondered if that was my fault. So far, Apone didn't say anything about what I said to Hicks yesterday, and I was afraid he was viewing me as a lost cause.

Delhoun was kind enough to pick up me and Vasquez at the base's gate, paying for the ferry trip to the mainland. He really wanted our night to feel special, so he gave us both money to get something decent to wear. I felt like his generosity wasn't necessary, but he insisted because he felt like we deserved it.

In the changing room of a small clothing store near the beaches of Brisbane, I found this was hauntingly similar to the night I went on a dinner date with Miranda. In the hours before I had to run to an airport to come back to Australia, I had returned the gray collared shirt I bought specifically for that evening. I felt really bad I did so, because "burying my past" feels like a stupid excuse to return something. Because of that, I tried to find the exact same shirt and black cargo shorts, and I wouldn't be returning them this time.

I didn't want to think about what happened yesterday, or anything in my past, tonight. I just wanted to have a good time with the woman I loved. That was my goal, and this giant barrier in my head was trying to keep that from happening. Sighing, I sat on the bench in the changing room, not wanting to relive every disaster that my brain has burned inside it. That wasn't something I had power over, and I felt my chest begin to tighten as I listened to every bad thought running rampant in my head. I could hear myself calling me worthless. I could hear people I used to know questioning whether or not I'd have a life when I graduated. I could see myself sitting at a desk in eighth grade, taking tests to determine whether I'd be in advanced classes or not. When I told someone I took these tests, they laughed, knowing I didn't pass.

I can remember staring up during the three days in boot camp where we had to survive in the wilderness. The moon was full and stars shone down on me. In the distant woods, I could hear the bark and high-pitched howl of a fox. The cool air, the crickets, and the overall peacefulness was a stark contrast to the pounding of my heart, the dryness of my throat, and the gnawing hunger in my stomach. It brought me back to the days when I was much younger, when I had the bravado to venture out, grab my bike, and ride down to the park in the center of Pittsburgh. It wasn't nearly the same as boot camp, but staring up at the night sky still invoked a feeling of wonder.

 _How far back did I just dig in my head?_ I took a moment to breathe, realizing I had broken past the traumatic memories to find myself back when I was thirteen, leaning against my bike in the park. Yes, I had a relatively happy life, where I wasn't afraid of my own memories. What the hell happened? I screwed up, that's what happened. Then, I went down a long, winding, bumpy road of hurt and trauma and loneliness, and I'm still traveling that road.

"You're taking forever, Drake," Vasquez said as she knocked on the door.

"I'm almost done," I replied, jolting from my thoughts. I shoved my old clothes into a bag, and opened the door. Frankly, I wasn't paying attention to what Vasquez was wearing, because I was having a moment where I needed a hug. "Look, I'm sorry I took so long."

"I don't care. Let's go."

"Vasquez, I need a hug."

"Why?"

"I just do, OK?"

Rolling her eyes, Vasquez hugged me in the middle of the store. I hugged her back, tightly, and muttered, "I'm sorry."

"Drake? Can you promise you won't become an emotional wreck at the restaurant?"

"I want to promise-"

"No, you _will_ promise. I'm not going to drag you out of there while you're crying."

"I love you, too, honey."

* * *

I sat across from Vasquez in the restaurant, feeling slightly anxious about what the rest of the night was going to be like after my partial breakdown in the clothing store. The place Delhoun picked for us was wedged in the downtown section of Brisbane. On the outside, it looked like the restaurant was really small, but on the inside, it had plenty of room. At least we had a window seat.

Some people associate "small" with "cozy." I guess that was an OK term to describe it. The place was dim, and the brick walls made it feel rather dark. There were old signs all over, and above the bar were three TVs, broadcasting soccer, rugby, and lottery numbers. The air was heavy with the smell of ribs and steak. It wasn't very romantic, but I wasn't being picky. In fact, it reminded me a little of the place I went to in D.C. with Miranda, and I wasn't sure if that was a good thing. Maybe it was a good thing because I was sharing this experience with someone I actually loved.

"I'm gonna get something from the bar," Vasquez said. "Do you want anything?"

"I'll wait a little," I replied. "I kinda want to eat first."

She shrugged. "Have it your way."

When she left, I felt like I should've said something different, but I couldn't think of what would be better to say. Vasquez returned to the table holding two drinks, and slid one of them to me. Again, I thought of what I did for Miranda, and tried to push that out of my mind. "You didn't have to do this for me," I said.

"No, I had to," she replied. "It's . . . It's polite, that's all."

"Well, thanks for remembering my preferred whiskey brand." I smirked.

"Yeah. I've noticed you really don't stray away from that. Or beer."

"I . . . had a bad experience with scotch and vodka once."

"Save that story for later. We don't need you having a sudden flashback here in the restaurant."

"Alright, alright." I sighed, struggling to find something to talk about. "Would you consider this to be a first date?"

"No. We've known each other for a few years. That takes away any awkwardness that would be associated with a first date. We know almost everything about each other. There's no need to make small talk. My experience with you is saying that going out to places isn't all that necessary when it comes to dating."

"Yeah, but our circumstances are different compared to that of most regular people. We met in jail."

"We went to boot camp together, and we made sure we were put in the same unit together."

I nodded, and again struggled to find something we could talk about without someone getting upset.

"Is Hudson going to be OK?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine in a few days, I think. He had a bit of a breakdown right before I noticed that he was burning up."

"Does this have anything to do with the fact that you told Hicks to go fuck himself?"

"In a way, it does."

"Why'd you do that, Drake?"

"I guess I lost control over my emotions, and I said some things that were on the back of my mind, but should never have said to anyone."

"But, aren't those the things that you really feel about someone?"

"Not all the time, I think."

"I would hope that. Hicks really was worried about you."

"Did he say something to you?"

"He said it to everyone last night. He gathered us in the mess hall and told us what happened."

"Every last word?"

"Every last word. He said we all need to be a little nicer to you and don't hesitate to ask if you're OK."

"Was that it?"

"No, he said that he's going to talk to Apone about having a few classroom days to give a lesson on post-traumatic stress disorder."

My stomach knotted up tightly. "What?"

"Yeah. He's trying to arrange for a psychiatrist to come in and talk to everyone, give a basic understanding of the disorder, and then talk to everyone individually about . . . stuff they might have on their mind."

"Is this mandatory?"

"I don't know. Nothing's been set in stone, yet."

I had lost my appetite completely. Sighing, I rubbed my face. "I don't want to get kicked out. This is all I have." I realized I needed to tell Vasquez about the GED. "Look, I don't want you to get mad, please, but I've got . . . another secret I've been keeping from you."

"Gee, Drake, why am I not surprised?"

"Please, it's serious. It has nothing to do with other girls. The day before Russell came, I got something in the mail from Pittsburgh. It was from the school district, saying that because I joined the Marines instead of finishing out my prison term, I can take a test to get my diploma, free of charge. I didn't tell you about this because I was afraid that you would accuse me of looking for ways to leave again."

"And have you finished this test?"

"No. I have two more sections to do, and then I can mail it in. All it does is allow me to have my diploma, so if I do leave the Marines, I can get a job. I'm not planning to leave if I get it. Hell, I don't even think I'm going to pass. It . . . It bothers me every time I look at it. I start thinking about how I was such a dumbass in high school. I think about all the things I could've done differently. I hate thinking about all that, because it makes me feel like I haven't changed or redeemed myself at all. Worse yet, I just . . . I should've told you as soon as I got it. Th-This is all reminding me how I've been a Godawful boyfriend. I've been neglecting our relationship. I hide things from you because I'm scared of what you'll say. I've done things that threaten our relationship entirely. I know that I say 'I love you,' but I don't know if that's being replicated. I don't know if we're falling apart."

Vasquez was quiet for a moment, and gestured to a waiter that we needed a few more minutes. She set her menu and drink down, and looked me right in the eye. "Can I ask you a few questions, Drake?"

"Sure."

"I've been pretty open to you about my life. I've dated guys before, but how many of them have I slept with?"

"One."

"And who's that?"

"Me."

"Exactly. Some people are perfectly comfortable with just sleeping around with whoever offers it, because they have no concept of trust. I trust you. I got to know you. That's hard to let go of."

"So, are you saying I shouldn't be worried?"

"Yes, I am. How many times do I have to tell you that I trust you? Hopefully, this is the last time." She reached across the table to grab my face and shake my head roughly. "This is all in your head, Drake. I'm not going to leave you, and I'm not going to assume that you getting your GED means you're trying to leave the Corps. I fucking missed you when you were on that hospital station. I cried when I learned that you were so close to dying because of those flowers. I didn't want you to leave when Delhoun wanted you to go to Washington to make sure Hudson was OK. We're not falling apart. Every time we fight, I think about how much we've been through together. I think about how I felt when you weren't around. I love my job in the Marines. It's much better than spending my days in a cell. But . . . if we ever got discharged, I would want to keep spending my life with you. When I got sent to jail, I thought I was never going to make any kind of friends ever again. I spent long hours burying my own emotions and suppressing them. I told myself I was never going to survive if I didn't have complete control over myself. Then, I met you. You were something else. I didn't have to be cautious around you. You seemed so much more human than most of the other inmates, and you said the same thing about me. Y-You seemed to know I had buried everything. When we talked, alone, you cared about more than your own survival, and the more we talked, the more I realized I had fallen in love with you."

I took a breath, slowly nodding. "I just wish . . . we had said all this to each other before. This is my fault, and I'm sorry."

Vasquez opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. She let go of my face, and said, "I accept your apology."

"I feel a lot better now."

"So do I."

"Yes."

"Yeah."

There was silence for a few minutes, but it wasn't heavy or awkward. We both placed our dinner orders when the waiter finally came back, and I said to Vasquez, "Do you want to walk on the beach when we're done?"

"Did you order something heavy?"

"Not really. Why do you ask?"

"Because you get really sleepy when you're full, and then there's no point in going anywhere."

"Well, what do you want me to do? Change my order to rabbit food?"

"No. Eat whatever you want, Drake. I'm not in charge of you." Vasquez glanced at me. "I hope you planned this out so we'll be back before curfew."

"We will. My original plan was to come to dinner at five, but Delhoun brought up a good point, and we changed the time to four. So, yeah, we'll be home before the curfew."

"Good."

I was glad we were able to finally make humor with each other, and I took it a step further when we got our food. "Hey, you know how in movies, couples give each other food from their plates-"

"Absolutely not. That's disgusting. Besides, you've been coming down with all sorts of diseases, and God only knows what those Annexers are carrying."

"It's not like I kiss them." I snorted. "Delhoun probably does, though."

"It's still gross, and we're trying not to attract attention. Do you understand that?"

"I do, sweetheart." I was about to tuck into my dinner when a very tall figure cast a shadow over the table. I noticed Vasquez slowly turning her gaze, and she dropped her fork. Taking a breath, I said, "Aran, can you not just walk up to people like that? It makes them nervous."

Alright, I can't stay mad at Aran. Not when he's smiling like an idiot. The Engineer gestured to the booth, and I gave a sigh of annoyance, moving so he could sit.

"I thought you were in Madagascar," I said.

"Drake, who the fuck is this?" Vasquez asked.

"Oh, Vasquez, meet Aran." I flicked my gaze between the two of them. "Aran, meet Vasquez."

Aran waved to her, then took out his notebook, writing, " _Nice to meet you._ "

"OK. Aran." Vasquez looked like she wanted to punch me. "Drake, what part of 'we were going to be alone' don't you understand?"

"Look, this isn't my fault. He just showed up," I said, nervously.

"Well, tell him to leave."

I glanced at Aran. "You heard her. I'll talk to you later, OK? Tell me your story tomorrow."

Frowning, Aran stood up and left the restaurant. I can't say I felt too bad, because I did promise Vasquez we'd be alone. Then again, Aran didn't know. Poor guy.

"That was incredibly rude," Vasquez muttered. "What was he? A friend of yours?"

"Yeah. We bumped into each other a few weeks ago, and somehow became friends." I shrugged. "He's really friendly, so there's nothing to worry about."

"That doesn't give him the right to-"

"He didn't know about this. It was just a temporary interruption that barely lasted-" I looked at my watch, "five minutes. Let's . . . Let's find something else to talk about."

We didn't find much to talk about, but I felt really bad when we started talking about the clothes we bought and that led to Vasquez almost breaking down in tears because she's never felt pretty her entire life. She's always prided herself on her physical fitness, but never really got into looking pretty like other girls when she was younger. "I'd try wearing some of the things that were popular at the time, but I didn't think it looked right on me. It didn't matter what I tried, I never looked right in a skirt or dress or whatnot. I get . . . anxious when it comes to the military parties because it's so uncomfortable. I hate it."

"Wait. You got dressed up for that party two weeks ago, and you didn't look upset about it."

"We were fighting at the time, remember? My mind was somewhere else. And . . . it was something I wanted to keep hidden from you, because I thought you'd think it was a stupid thing to be worried about."

I grinned. "Aww, you have secrets, too." I stood up and sat next to her, giving her a hug. "I don't think it's stupid."

"Hey, my secrets aren't like yours."

"I know, but, still, you kept something hidden from me." I kissed her. "Now, we're even."

"No, we're even when I pretend to cheat on you, and I'm never going to do that."

* * *

We walked to a secluded area of the beach, where the only light was coming from the moon and the faint glow from the skyscrapers. I can't remember the last time I felt this happy. Finally, my memories had left me alone. I can make new memories, happier ones. That sounds cheesy, but I'm not sure how else to put it.

It would've been somewhat romantic if we had simply laid in the sand, but instead, we jogged out to the water and tossed it at each other. We were actually smiling and laughing, feeling like we had all the time in the world. This was the good part about being in love. This is what you wish love was like all the time.

After a few minutes of being out of the water, we could feel the salt clinging to us, but we still kissed each other despite the discomfort. Our problems faded for a short while. We stood on the beach, knowing we weren't that far off from the real world. Now was not the time to worry. For once, I felt like I had finally pushed myself to be happy, but I wondered why my happiness was temporary, but my sadness seemed perpetual.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: Should Drake be punished for what he said to Hicks? Would Hicks stand up for him if that decision was made?_

 _Author's Note: I like how this chapter was purely Drake and Vasquez (and Aran is back, yay). There was a part of me that wanted to have the date end badly, but I figured I've put everyone through enough shit. Drake deserves a happy ending for this chapter, and it closes the door for one of the conflicts presented in the story.  
_

 _However, I did open the door for conflict between Drake and Hicks in the last chapter. The issue with Drake and Vasquez did span two stories, and I'm beginning to consider having this new conflict develop over the next story or so. I don't want it to start overshadowing the main problems here (Hudson, the diploma, Russell, etc.), so I'm considering it being a subplot in the next story._


	9. Chapter 9

I paid a steep price for my three hours of happiness that night. When we returned to base, Vasquez and I showered in our separate rooms to get the sand and salt off us, and then met up in my room. Everything on my mind seemed to come back down like a ton of bricks, and I found myself in a depressed state. I felt bad that I had returned to this, but I kept telling myself I had no control.

Vasquez didn't seem upset, and decided that we could just cuddle instead of make love if I wasn't feeling up to it. I was honest when I said I wasn't, and we simply snuggled together in bed. That's where the steep price came into play; I was having nightmares. All I heard was screaming and crying, and I wasn't sure where it was all coming from. It sounded eerily like Hudson. I felt hopeless, and I started screaming as well.

I was shaken awake because I kept tossing, turning, and whimpering. "Drake, wake up," Vasquez hissed. "Drake, you're having bad dreams. Wake up."

I jolted upright, taking a moment to comprehend where I was. Glancing at Vasquez, I said, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Vasquez replied, giving me a hug. "Are you OK now?"

"No." I swallowed past a lump in my throat. "I . . . I have to check on Hudson."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I think I heard his voice in my dream."

"Drake, it was just a dream."

"I know, but . . . something's telling me to go check on him." Grabbing a pair of pants, I hurried out the door while zippering up my fly. I anxiously entered sick bay, and searched for Hudson's room, my heart starting to pound harder. When I found it, I opened the door, afraid of what I might find.

Thank God I found nothing.

Hudson was asleep. A highly sensitive temperature control system was in the window. When I entered the room, it turned on a fan. The monitors were showing his vital signs were all normal, aside from his temperature, which was still elevated. Breathing a sigh of relief, I left the room. _It really was just a bad dream._

I went back to my room, finding Vasquez had gone back to sleep. At least, I thought she was asleep when I crawled into bed; as I rested my head on the pillow, she put her arm around me, and pulled herself closer, putting her head on my shoulder. "Is he OK?" she whispered.

"Yeah, he's fine," I replied. "Again, I'm sorry."

"Relax. It's alright. Hey, at least if something was wrong, you would've done something, right?"

"I would." I gave Vasquez a kiss on her forehead. "Good-night."

* * *

Around seven in the morning, I would awaken to find Vasquez had left. I wasn't upset, considering she probably heard someone outside and decided to head to her room before that someone discovered we were together. After getting dressed, I walked to the mess hall, where Hicks ordered me to sit down before standing at the head of the table to give an announcement. I noticed Hudson was with us. He looked pale and tired, and was picking at his food absentmindedly.

"Listen up," Hicks started, "Over the last couple days, we've had some incidents where the topic of mental health has been brought up, either directly or indirectly. It's not something we can avoid. Mental health is just as important as physical health, and I don't want any of you to think that we prioritize one over the other. However, when it comes to guys like you, you may be thinking that having an issue with your mental health makes you appear weak; it doesn't. Things happen. As Marines, it's our job to go into combat. That's the number one cause for post-traumatic stress disorder among us. That's not the only cause, though, and that's not the only problem we have. Accidents can be a source, too, and I'm not going to name names."

I saw Ferro roll her eyes before mouthing, "Drake."

"I said, I'm not naming names." Hicks glared at her. "I know you all pick on each other all the time, but when you work together on something, I've seen you pull through. I want you to do the same with this."

"So, you want us all to become crying pillows?" Vasquez asked.

"No. I just want you to know that we all have problems on our minds, and you need to think about that when communicating with each other."

 _Please stop painting a target on my back,_ I thought.

"I don't care if it's something little, or something major. We suck at communicating. That stops today, do you all understand?"

Everyone except me said, "Yes, sir."

"Do you _all_ understand?" Hicks glared at me.

I sighed. "Yes, sir."

"Good. I'm going to talk to you all individually today to see where we're at."

* * *

I really wanted to avoid Hicks today, so I spent the rest of the morning in my room, working on my test. The next section was general science. Again, the first few questions were stupid, and those that followed made me feel stupid. I took a break partway through, and began going the previous sections. I wished I had some degree of confidence in my answers, but since I didn't, I could only hope that I was passing.

I became lost in thought, and wondered what was going to happen after I sent the test in. Was I just going to be mailed a response, or did they want me to go to Pittsburgh and receive my diploma in person? If that happened, it was probably going to be one big embarrassment fest. People I know and don't know talking about me. Maybe the papers would show up and want me as a headline: "Local Felon-Turned-Marine Receives Diploma After Years of Absolute Failure." I have a feeling that's too long, but, you get the picture.

This probably wasn't even going to happen. Either I was going to fail, or I was simply going to get my diploma through the mail with a note saying "congratulations." As much as I felt going to receive it in person would be embarrassing, I imagined just getting it in the mail would make me feel unimportant. No one wanted to see me. They just wanted to get it over with after just typing my name on a piece of paper.

Hiding my stuff in my desk, I left my room. I figured the only person who would offer me reasonable advice would be Delhoun, but I was afraid Hicks would bar me from leaving. When I approached him and Apone, he said, "If we let you go into town, can you promise to come see me when you come back?"

"Sure." I shrugged. "I'll see you."

"Good." Hicks offered a small smile, making an effort to look genuine.

I didn't say another word, and simply went to my room to grab my jacket.

* * *

Delhoun was poring over a booklet when I entered the facility's kitchen. He sighed before closing it, and said, "Do you need something, Drake?" He didn't sound too enthused, and that bothered me.

"I just . . . need someone to talk to," I replied, sitting at the table. "If you're not up to it, I understand-"

"No, no. Please. Talk away." He glanced at the booklet. "I'm sorry, I . . . I had my annual eye exam today, and they said I need to have my corrective surgery redone."

"What's going on?"

"The surgery I had when I was in high school isn't permanent, and it's starting to show, so I have to go back in a few weeks to have it fixed. What's worrying me is that I'll be wearing black goggles for the three days following the surgery, so I can't work." Delhoun sighed again. "I'm sorry, Drake. I know you didn't come here to listen to me bitch and moan."

"It's fine. I bitch and moan all the time."

"Right. So, what's the trouble now?"

I took a moment to collect my thoughts. "I blew up on Hicks a few days ago, and said some things I shouldn't have. He sounded like he was trying to help me, but I told him that he never showed concern for me unless it impacted the whole team and I said I wished I had more personal value, and then I told him to go fuck himself."

"Well, that's a little harsh. He's a higher rank than you, correct?"

"Yes. I'm a private, he's a corporal."

"I would expect that to warrant some form of punishment."

"That hasn't happened. Instead, I'm getting something worse. This morning, Hicks told us we all need to be concerned about each other's mental health, and . . . I feel like that's painting a target on my back because I've been so moody lately, especially when Russell was around. He didn't say anyone's name, but it really did feel like he was calling me out and saying I need to speak up about what's bothering me."

"He's not wrong. Your mental health is important, believe me. I understand it's difficult to talk about sometimes, and it's not a one-size-fits-all type of issue. Your brain is wired differently from mine. My brain's wired differently from Hicks's, or Hudson's, or anyone else you can name. That's why it's so challenging."

"The problem is that I feel like Hicks is doing this because our unit 'sucks at communicating.' I don't think he's expressing legitimate individual concern for me."

"He could very well be concerned for you. You're just pushing him away."

"He's never been concerned for me before-"

"Drake. Trust me. You need to give him a chance."

"I don't want to. Even if he was actually concerned for me, I don't want anyone to suspect I have PTSD. I don't want to get kicked out of the Marines. I don't have my diploma. I can't get a job. What am I supposed to do?"

Delhoun leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap while muttering, "You've got yourself caught between a rock and a bloody hard place, huh." He thought for a moment. "Drake, PTSD isn't something that you can deal with on your own. The longer you let yourself ferment in it, the worse it'll be. Not to mention, you don't even know if you have it. You haven't received a diagnosis from a doctor-"

"Then why did you bring it up?"

"Because I'm worried about you as well. You listed your issues, and I began suspecting that you could be dealing with PTSD. I didn't say you have it."

"Didn't you also say that you would help me deal with my problems without letting the Marines know?"

Delhoun held up his booklet, which I saw was about the eye surgery. "I've got my own issues. I'm taking care of around forty Annexers, and my volunteers only come in once a week. You've got a commitment with the Marines, so you're limited on how many times you can come out here."

I started feeling sick, and a dark, disgusting mass of hopelessness began rising from the pit of my stomach. It choked me, and I rubbed my face, trying to cover the fact that I wanted to cry. "Then, I'll deal with my problems myself," I said, softly. "If you can't help me, fine. I'll try and . . . talk to Vasquez as often as I can."

"I'm sure someone else would like to talk to you as well," Delhoun replied.

"Yeah? Who?"

"Aran."

"Oh." I felt my stomach sink, remembering that I told him to leave last night when Vasquez and I were having dinner. "Hopefully, he's not . . . mad at me."

"Mad at you? Jesus Christ, he's not mad at you. Why do you think he's mad at you?"

"No reason. Where is he?"

"In the yard, I think. He came by last night." Delhoun stood up, going toward a window. I joined him, and saw Aran sitting in the yard, being smothered by Annexers. "I'm sure Aran would be delighted to barge in on you a few times a week."

"As long as he isn't discovered."

"If you and Vasquez can hide your romance, then you can hide an Engineer."

"That's not even remotely similar. Besides, Vasquez and I are smart. Aran is just a giant Curious George that'll get caught and probably shipped off to a Weyland-Yutani lab."

"You don't know that, just as much as you don't know that Hicks really is trying to help you." Delhoun smiled. "I want you to think about everything I've said, Drake, and I want you to think hard, because this all is something that could have a lasting impact on you." He looked out the window again, and frowned when he saw Aran was gone. He then turned around to see Aran picking me up and hugging me tightly.

I can't deny that seeing Aran again felt good, but I'll never say that to him out loud.

"Aran, you talk to Drake while I put everyone back in their kennels," Delhoun said. There was a hint of sadness in his voice, and I suspected he was thinking about his upcoming surgery. I could understand why it was bothering him so much. It made me feel like I needed to hold up my end of the friendship by doing favors for him, especially since he's done so much for me.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: Would it be mentally healthier for Drake to receive his diploma through mail, or be invited back home for the honor?_


	10. Chapter 10

I'm sorry to say that there isn't a lot interesting in Aran's story. Nothing happened on the way from Washington to Madagascar, aside from the storm that forced the landing. I was expecting Aran to have had something incredible happen or something like that, but, not really; he wandered the jungle for a few days before developing the feeling that I needed help. He couldn't explain the feeling at all, just that it came from dreams and a general concern for my well-being.

Frankly, I appreciate his concern. I trust him, and I'm willing to talk to him about what's going. He took the time to get to know me and understand my problems. Hicks, on the other hand, wasn't trying to get to know me; you can't get to the center of an iceberg without getting through the ice itself, and I don't think Hicks's skull is hard enough to just bust through effortlessly.

After reading the pages of Aran's description of the Madagascar jungles, I told him about what's happened with me. He listened attentively, nodding occasionally, and frowning every time I mentioned something that I did wrong, to which I'd reply, "I know, I know, it wasn't very smart. I've learned, OK?" With all that cleared up, he'd continue to listen. He didn't offer me much in terms of advice, but he did promise that if I needed someone to listen, he'd be there.

I would've stayed longer if I wasn't afraid of being punished for staying out too long again. I said good-bye to Delhoun and Aran, and headed back to base, dreading the fact that I had to split open my emotional wounds for Hicks. When I entered the gates, I told myself that I could get through this without revealing too much, but this was basically going to be an amateur therapy session; something was going to be revealed to Hicks, but it had to be something I knew I could deal with him knowing about. In truth, that was nothing, but some part of me was saying that telling Hicks about my nightmares would be satisfactory.

Sure enough, Hicks was waiting just beyond the main doors. He gave me a warm smile, and led me to his quarters, where he closed the door, ensuring privacy. "So, you heard my speech this morning, right?"

"I'm not deaf, so, I heard your speech," I replied.

Hicks ignored my wise-ass comment. "Why are you pushing against this as hard as you can, Drake?"

"Because I'm still not convinced you show any personal concern for me."

"Well, let's talk about that." Hicks leaned forward in his desk chair, putting his hands together. "Why do you feel like I don't care? Did I not recommend you get a medal for rescuing Hudson?"

"You did, but that's not the point here. My point is this: you never bothered to get to know me as a fucking human being. Ever since I was sent to this unit, the only words I've gotten out of you relate to the business of the Marines. Honestly, I don't think you take me seriously."

Hicks was about to say something, but then decided against it. "You're right. I don't . . . know you all that well as a person." His sentence seemed to fall flat, as if there was more he wanted to say, but couldn't because he knew it would make me fly off the handle. "Let's start with the basics. Where'd you grow up?"

"Pittsburgh."

"Went to school there?"

"I don't wanna talk about that."

"OK. Did you have any . . . part-time jobs?"

"Never got the chance to do so."

"Any . . . friends?"

"I don't wanna talk about that."

"Girlfriends?"

I wanted to leave. "I don't wanna talk about that."

"Is your past a touchy subject?" There was some underlying sarcasm in Hicks's voice.

"You bet your balls it is."

It didn't take much for me to completely knock Hicks off his train of thought. He realized that talking to me wasn't going to be easy; in fact, I think he knew I was going to push back each time he tried. "Drake, we all have things in life that we regret-"

"I know. But, not everyone has nightmares about it." I decided to throw Hicks a treat. We couldn't go back and forth forever.

"Do you have a lot of nightmares?"

I nodded, pretending to act like I regretted saying that. "Not every night, but definitely multiple times a week."

"Are they similar, or varied?"

"Varied."

"Are they usually of people or events?"

"Both. A lot of them focus on what happened on the hospital station, or what happened with Hudson." I felt like I had taken a knife and slid it over the wounds I was trying to heal, letting them bleed in front of someone I didn't think could help me fix them.

Hicks didn't say anything right away. After a moment of thinking, he said, "When you say 'what happened with Hudson,' do you mean your rescue of him, or what happened in Washington?"

"Both. I have dreams where I run into the building without a gas mask." I wasn't lying with that at all, and that's why I started to feel the bleeding get out of control. "I also have dreams where all I hear is screaming. Sometimes it's me screaming, and sometimes it's Hudson screaming. Or I can't tell who's screaming." I took a breath, wondering if I was going too far after promising myself I would limit Hicks's information. "Most often, I have dreams where I can't breathe."

"Do they bother you during the day?"

Shyly, I nodded.

Hicks bit his lip, then made eye contact with me. "Do you feel like your nightmares hinder you at your job?"

I decided to lower my resistance, despite the fact that I didn't want him trying to divert from the man-to-man talk and change the topic to my job. "I do not." I was being honest when I said that; I didn't think that combat was going to bother me. It was everything else that would.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded again.

"Is there . . . anything you'd like to talk about?"

"No."

"Will you say something if anything comes up?"

I shrugged. "Sure." Hopefully, that answer makes him happy.

"OK." Hicks held out his hand. "This didn't go the way I hoped, but I certainly hoped I at least got you to think about what I'm trying to do."

 _I think this is going to fall flat on its face._ "I'll think about it," I replied, shaking his hand before leaving the room.

* * *

Any outsider would probably think that wasn't a very good attempt at help. Like I said, Hicks isn't a professional, so I'm not mad at him for trying. I just felt like he was prodding at me more than helping. This kind of stuff isn't his strong suit; he's a military leader, and hasn't been in the civilian world in quite some time. I have a feeling this will be more of learning experience for Hicks than it will be for me.

I didn't want to be late for dinner, and see I was already ten minutes late annoyed me. As soon as I sat at the table, Bishop slid what appeared to be the classic "mystery meat" in front of me. Everyone else was eating it, so I had to as well.

Everyone else except for Hudson, I mean. I've noticed he hasn't eaten much since we came back. Without a second thought, I moved over to where he was sitting, looking across the table at his sad state. "Hey," I said. "Everything OK?"

Hudson nodded. "Talked to Hicks earlier."

"And?"

"I told him 'bout what happened the day I got the fever, how I got upset with you. That was it. He asked if you understood why I felt the way I felt, and I said, 'I don't know. I just know he's been trying to help me while also acting like I'm being treated like royalty.'"

"Look, I just want to let all that go, alright? You know I don't . . . feel any better, right?"

"I believe it."

"I don't think I deserve special treatment anyway, not after what happened with Russell."

"Drake, you saved my life. I owe you something for that, and I'll kick Russell's ass for you if it means you'll get that medal."

"I don't even want the medal."

"Take the medal, man. Just take it. Please?"

I sighed. "Fine, I'll take it." I suddenly became aware of someone watching us, and glanced over my shoulder to see Hicks observing our conversation. Then Hudson lost his shit.

" _What the fuck is wrong with you, man?!_ " Hudson abruptly stood up. Beads of silver sweat started forming on his forehead, and he was tensing every muscle in his body. " _Why the hell're you listening to our conversation?!_ "

"Will you calm the fuck down, Hudson?" Apone said.

Hudson grabbed Hick's uniform collar. "We're doing fine without your help!"

"What the hell is your problem?" Hicks asked, trying to shove Hudson off of him.

"I'll tell you what my problem is!" Hudson wound up to punch Hicks in the jaw. Vasquez stood up to pull them apart, but by the time she grabbed Hudson's arms, he had already socked Hicks's left cheek.

There wasn't a soul in that room that wasn't shocked. When Hudson was pulled away, I saw a dark bluish-purple bruise right underneath Hicks's left eye. He got back up, and his surprise morphed into anger. Without much of a warning, he punched Hudson in the same spot, and ordered Vasquez to make him sit down. After that, we were all told that no one was allowed to speak for the rest of the night.

* * *

Hudson can be aggressive when he wants to be, but I'd never think he'd turn that aggression onto his own comrades. There had to be something else going on that would explain everything, and I found my answer pretty quickly. Out of curiosity, I went to Hudson's room to talk to him, but he was in the shower. I noticed the bottle of experimental pills on the dresser, along with a folder. In the folder were Doctor Hornby's notes on the pills, and I whispered, "That explains a lot" when I read this: " _Most side effects are psychological, and include such problems as sudden depressive episodes, aggressive fits, unexplained withdrawal from normal activities, and suicidal thoughts_."

I really hoped Hudson didn't blame himself for what was going on, but as much as I wanted to ask him about it, something was telling me to just leave well enough alone and let the issue resolve itself. I went to my own room, hoping everyone would forget about what happened in the morning.

I awoke around four AM and couldn't get back to sleep. I guess they changed up the "mystery meat," because it wasn't agreeing with me. _Just get your lazy butt out of bed and get an antacid tablet. Same old crap every single time they change the menu here._ I sat up and rubbed my face. _Same crap every day . . ._ I gave a disappointed sigh. All the thoughts in my head decided to wake up as well, and ruined any chance I had at getting back to sleep. Standing up, I went into the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet above the sink. _I have the means to end it all right here._

God, what was I thinking? That thought alone made me feel disgusted with myself. After getting a single tablet from the antacid bottle, I quietly closed the cabinet. _I'm just frustrated, that's all. I'm not happy with what's going on around here. It's not going to last forever, right?_ I filled a glass with water. _Remember you have people who care about you. What would Vasquez do if she comes into your room and finds you dead on the bathroom floor? She'd cry her eyes out. How would Delhoun feel if he found out? I don't think his reaction would be all that different. Same with Aran. You can't do that to Aran. Even Delhoun's Annexers would probably sense you're not coming back. Hicks would probably feel like a failure. Do you really want to do that to him?_

"No, I don't," I muttered to myself. "I'm frustrated, but . . . I'm in control. I'm not in control of what's going on outside, but I'm in control of my thoughts." I put the tablet in my mouth and took a swallow of water. Just like when I was locked in the warehouse, I felt like I had won a battle in my head, but I still had a long way to go.

Since I couldn't get to sleep, I decided to get to work on my GED test, and by the time Apone was waking everyone else up for breakfast, I had four pages left of the entire booklet. I could finish it today and mail it in today, and then I would have to wait. There was still the worry about what the response would be, and I had no idea if I was going to pass or fail. At this point, I'm pretty sure I was going to fail. The more I stared at the damn paper, the less confidence I had in my answers.

At least I could worry about it later. I got dressed and headed down to the mess hall. Everyone else was talking, but no one invited me into their conversation, and I was fine with that. However, when Hudson sat down, everyone fell silent.

"You got something to say about last night?" Apone asked.

Hudson nodded shyly, and looked at Hicks, who was still sporting a large bruise. "I'm sorry, man. I don't know what happened."

"It's fine, relax," Hicks replied.

I privately breathed a sigh of relief, but I also didn't think we were all out of the woods yet. At one point, Hicks got up and said General Russell was coming back for a final inspection, so we needed to clean our rooms and look our best. I took it as a warning that I needed to shove all my emotions in a locker and give Russell the impression that I've actually changed.

* * *

After cleaning my room, I didn't have time to work on my test. There was an announcement over the PA that Russell was on the grounds, so we all had to stand outside our rooms, dressed in our PT gear.

Apone approached me, wearing his dress uniform. "Drake, put on your blues."

I felt my stomach knot up. "What?"

"Put on your blues, Drake!"

Not saying another word, I went back into my room, and opened the closet to take out my dress uniform. Common sense was telling me that Russell was going to pin the medal on me personally, but I also wondered if this was an elaborate trick. I emerged from my room, in my uniform, feeling out of place. I'm pretty sure that's exactly how Russell wanted me to feel.

Hicks called for us to stand at attention, and Russell entered the hallway, trailed by a younger soldier. The soldier was holding a tiny box, and I didn't have anymore doubts in my mind about that stupid medal.

Russell looked at me. He didn't glare at me, but he certainly didn't lose his rough edge. "Private Mark Drake, I've read every single report with your name in it, and for the longest time, all I had was a name and not a face. Now, I have a face to put to that name. I came here expecting you to learn something, and I'll assume you did, but I, too, learned something." He didn't lose eye contact with me, and his gaze began to soften. "Drake, you've seen shit that most Marines will never see. All I knew was what I'd read on paper. I've had friends who've left the USCM because they became traumatized, and they didn't want anything to do with us because they didn't want to be reminded of it. You knew a comrade was in trouble and you helped him despite having gone through a traumatic experience. That's not just dedication and loyalty; that's courage. Was it a spur-of-the-fucking-moment thing? Maybe, but it's still courage."

Everyone in the hallway was looking at me. I could see Bishop leaning against the doorway to sick bay, his arms folded over his chest. Apone was stoic, but I think he was proud of me deep down. Hicks was giving me a reassuring grin, and for once, I wanted to smile back.

"Drake, it is an honor and a privilege for me to present to you-" Russell turned to the soldier holding the box, who opened it to show a gold medal with a blue ribbon, "the United Systems Colonial Marines Medal of Bravery." He gestured for me to lower my head so he could put the medal around my neck. "You're also the first Marine I've ever met to not want a medal. Trust me, you've earned this, son."

I took a breath, unable to pick out the feelings swirling around inside me. "Thank you, sir."

Russell shook my hand, smiling proudly. "Keep up the good work."

I felt like the turbulent emotions were going to rupture out of me. What made me more anxious was that my stomach wasn't empty, so it was more likely I could actually throw up and completely embarrass myself. I was afraid Russell could see my heart pounding through my jacket. The best thing I could do was stay quiet until it was all over, and not let anyone know how hard this was hitting me.

* * *

Not much else happened, which surprised me. I half-expected Russell to have laid out a fancy dinner for me, and I was glad that wasn't the case. He shook everyone's hand, and left the base, wishing us all the best of luck.

Frankly, I didn't want to talk to anyone for the rest of the day, but I also didn't want to be alone with my thoughts. After changing out of my dress uniform, I headed down to the gym, finding it was empty aside from Hudson lying underneath the bench press. "You know, you're supposed to have a spotter," I said.

"Yeah, I know," Hudson replied. "Could you do that?"

Sighing, I stood behind him to keep the bar from dropping onto his chest. I figured this was better than being alone, but I still didn't want to say anything unless it was absolutely necessary.

"You look really sad, man. What's wrong? You just got a medal for Christ's sake."

"I got a medal for saving your ass. That's it. Russell didn't even bother acknowledging the rest of the story."

"Even if he did, I still think you deserve it. Who else would have the balls to piss off a scientist and get tortured for it? Don't you think you were at all brave when you went to D.C.?"

"I didn't do that on my own. Delhoun wanted me to go."

"But you accepted it. You don't think that says something about you?"

I was silent for a moment, and then said, "Can you keep a secret?"

"I dunno, man, no one's ever trusted me with a secret before. It's not a really embarrassing one, is it?"

"No, it's not. It's really personal."

"OK, I'll give it a shot."

I swallowed past a lump in my throat. "When I was in D.C., I . . . I had moments where I didn't want to deal with life anymore. I was tired of feeling like crap, and I felt like I brought bad luck wherever I went. I felt like people really didn't want me around, and I felt like I was very easy to single out for things done wrong."

After racking the weights, Hudson thought for a moment. He jumped to grab the pull-up bar, and hung there, looking at me. "So, in a way, Hicks was right when he was concerned 'bout you wanting to hurt yourself?"

"I don't think he was right or wrong. I wanted to keep that to myself because I don't want the attention, and I want to keep my job. If I get kicked out because I'm dealing with mental issues, I won't get a job in the civilian world for two reasons: one, no one wants to hire someone who's emotionally unstable, and two, I don't have a high school diploma."

"That doesn't explain whether or not you want to hurt yourself."

"I don't, and I'm being honest. I catch myself every time I think about it. I tell myself I do have people who care about me, and . . . I don't want to know what'll happen if I ever did something so stupid."

"I don't think anyone wants to know." Hudson pulled himself over the bar, then slowly lowered himself back down. "At least you recognize it. You're probably not as far gone as you think you are."

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: Is Drake doing himself a favor by trusting Hudson? Or is Hudson not the right person to be trusted with secrets like Drake's?_

 _Author's Note: There were at least two different paths this chapter was taking. One was where Drake leaves the hallway because he can't process how he feels about the medal. Two was where Hudson confronts Russell. It became messy and I wasn't sure I'd finish this part for another day, but I finally broke through and got it done. With the medal part of the storyline out of the way, we can now focus on the GED and Drake's inevitable anxiety about whether or not he passes because a lot rests on that._


	11. Chapter 11

In the two days that followed, things gradually returned to normal. The medal was kept in one of the pockets of my dress uniform, because I was never going to look at it unless I had to wear the dress uniform. Of course, I hoped I didn't have to wear that uniform in a long time.

The good news was that I could trust Hudson. Whenever we were around other people, he maintained his usual, mildly annoying personality. In fact, ever since I talked to him, he's starting to look a little better. For the first time in two weeks, he asked Bishop to do the knife trick at breakfast, and I was more than happy to hold his hand down while Bishop took the dagger and prepared to stab it in the space between his fingers.

Hicks was still trying to get us all to communicate better, but he's backed off somewhat. I wouldn't mind if it was gradual, but it was so sudden that I decided to be the bigger man and ask what was wrong when I cornered him in his quarters.

"We're leaving for the Moon in two days," Hicks said, flatly.

I felt like I got punched in the chest. "Base transfer?"

"No. There was an accident at the Sea of Tranquility company headquarters. A bunch of employees are stuck in one section of a building because a computer server exploded and compromised an atmospheric processor. They've got three weeks of oxygen and we have the tools to get them out." Hicks pointed to me. "Unfortunately, you and Hudson have to stay behind because you can't go in hypersleep. It's not a long trip, but I'm not risking two of my most valuable men."

"How're you allowed to go when you're down one rifleman and down one smartgunner?"

"Your temporary replacements are coming this afternoon from the Sydney base."

A ball of ice started forming in my stomach. I don't think Vasquez was going to take too kindly to working with a smrtgunner she hardly knew, but I imagined she'd keep her mouth shut and just work with whoever this replacement was going to be.

In the meantime, I had finished my test last night and gave it to the mail guys this morning. All I had to do was wait, and I hate waiting. Then again, it feels like all I do is wait. My whole life revolves around waiting. What am I waiting for, though? Am I waiting for some giant miracle to happen? Will that miracle allow me to live like a normal person? Are miracles even the answer? I highly doubt it. I've never had any miracles. They seem to avoid me like the plague.

I rubbed my face. I was about to think, _Maybe I am the plague_ , but I quickly told myself that wasn't true. I'm just a young man with bad luck. That's all.

I ended up telling Hudson what I heard from Hicks, and he was really disappointed that he couldn't go to the Moon with them. "How long are we banned from hypersleep?" he asked.

"I still have three weeks," I replied. "You've got a month or longer, I think."

"A month?" Hudson gave an annoyed sigh. "What the hell're we supposed to do till then?"

"Do I look like I know the answer? We'll probably get sent to a hospital complex on the mainland and just sit and wait until everyone else comes back." The last thing I wanted was that. Lovingly called "grunt daycare," these large military hospital bases are used for two purposes: quarantine, and housing soldiers who can't fight but are going to recover. Most soldiers choose to go home in order to rest, but those who don't have a home anywhere in the world (like me) would get sent to the nearest base. I went to one shortly after being transferred to this unit because I broke my arm during training. It wasn't a very fun experience. The doctors and nurses are genuinely nice people, but I was incredibly lonely, and the shock of going from boot camp to my unit and then abruptly to another base was overwhelming. I imagine it would be significantly worse for Hudson, because just the atmosphere would make him feel like he was back in Hornby's lab in D.C. At least we would have each other for company.

"I don't wanna go there," Hudson muttered. "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah. We stay with Delhoun for a week." I shrugged. "He needs help anyway, because he's getting eye surgery in a few days. I think that's a perfect excuse."

Vasquez entered the room, looking rather pissed off. "Drake, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure." I stood up, following her out into the hall. I was a little confused when she pushed me into her bedroom and slammed shut the door.

"I was very close to telling Hicks to go fuck himself as well," she hissed. "I don't want to leave!"

"It's not gonna be forever." I was guessing that she had just learned about their mission.

Tears were streaming down her face. "I can't do this again, Drake!"

"Yes, you can." I put my arm around her. "It'll be OK, sweetheart, I promise. I'll be here in Australia. Nothing's going to happen." I grinned. "Now it's my turn to worry about you." In truth, I was already worried. "You've never reacted like this to a mission. What's going on?"

"It's not the mission. It's being separated from you again. I'm so tired of it." Vasquez took a breath. "I've worked so hard to become one of the best smartgunners this unit has. I shouldn't be . . . falling apart because of this."

I kissed her, and gently pressed her close to my body. "Missing me doesn't make you weak. Trust me, I'm tired of this, too." I grinned. "Just don't be nice to whoever my replacement is."

"When have I been nice to anyone other than you?"

"I don't even think you're nice to me, sometimes." I kept smirking. "So, does this mean tonight we can-"

"If you're up for it."

"Well, you bet I'm up for it. At least we're not gonna fight afterwards, like last time."

"No, we're not gonna fight." A slight smile crossed Vasquez's face. "Not unless you do something stupid between now and lights-out."

"And knowing me, that's entirely possible?"

Vasquez's smile got bigger. "Exactly." She kissed my cheek. "Please keep that in mind."

* * *

It must've been around three in the afternoon when the replacements for me and Hudson arrived. They weren't anything spectacular, to be honest with you. I was leaning against the wall, watching them enter the base and greet Hicks. The rifleman was a small, tanned guy called Private Jenzi, and the smartgunner was a taller, better built guy called Private Lucano.

Jenzi was talking with Hicks while it appears Lucano has the attention span of a three-year-old. He spotted me in the hallway and immediately walked over to say, "Hey! Are you the smartgunner I'm replacing?"

I glanced up at him, and didn't reply.

"Aw, come on, what's the matter?"

What's it going to take to send the message that I'm not interested in making conversation?

Clearly, Lucano was incapable of understanding nonverbal language, so he started poking my biceps. At this point, I was pretty much backed against the wall, frozen like a nervous animal. "You know, I could tell you're a smartgunner when I walked in. Our arms are better developed than a rifleman's."

"Lucano! Leave him alone," Hicks ordered, sternly. "He's not feeling good."

I'm pretty sure Lucano was expecting me to be in a sling or a cast or something like that. He stepped away from me, saying, "Sorry," as he went back over to Hicks and Jenzi.

I had a gut feeling that this wasn't going to be the last time Lucano was going to be a pain in the ass, and I was proven right shortly before lights-out.

I joined Vasquez in her room after taking a shower. She was already in bed, and patiently waiting for me to get ready. As soon as I got in bed, the door opened, and Lucano was staring at us. I felt every organ in my torso fall like rocks into my stomach. Both Vasquez and I had turned bright-red with shock and embarrassment.

" _Get out!_ " Vasquez shouted.

A slew of emotions crashed down on my head. Should I cry? Scream? For a moment, I wasn't sure if Vasquez was yelling at me or Lucano, but I didn't have to worry about him for very long. I heard an inhuman howling out in the hallway, and a split-second later, Hudson had tackled Lucano. His cheeks were flushed and silver-tinged sweat was running down the sides of his face. His hands were tightly wrapped around Lucano's throat, and he was throttling him hard. I think the surprise alone had taken the breath out of Lucano, because he was feebly trying to push Hudson off of him.

The whole base was baffled by this, because everyone who ran over to see had the same look on their face, and I was pretty sure I was the only one who knew why Hudson suddenly attacked Lucano. Hicks was sprinting over, wearing only his pajama shorts, and tried to grab Hudson by the shoulders. "Let go of him!" Hicks snarled between grit teeth.

I jogged over, tying my boots, and promptly kicked Hudson in the ribs. His grip on Lucano loosened, and he was easily pulled away, allowing Lucano to scramble out from underneath him. The rage in his eyes faded, and he looked at me while holding his chest. Before Hicks could rip him a new one, I held up my hand, saying, "Don't get too upset with him."

"He just attacked another Marine!" Hicks shouted.

"It's the medicine he's on! If you're gonna get mad at anyone, get mad at Doctor Hornby." I went into Hudson's room, and came back with the packet of notes.

This was clearly the last straw for Hicks. Never in my life have I seen him lose his temper, or even break down in tears, but that night, I did. Throwing the packet on the floor, Hicks gestured for me to follow him into his room. After slamming shut the door, he sat at his desk, looking down at the carpet. I found this to be incredibly familiar, and realized I was seeing myself suffering a breakdown as well.

Hicks didn't speak for several minutes. He sniffed fluid back into his nasal passages. Dear God, the man was actually crying. You're more likely to see Vasquez cry than Hicks. I could see tears running down his cheeks and dripping onto the floor. He looked at me, struggling to keep his composure. I noticed he had a much better grip on himself than I did, but that didn't mean he wasn't susceptible to a major breakdown. In truth, I wondered if he was doing a far better job at bottling things up, and only now were things starting to come to the surface. This was exactly what he didn't want happening to this unit. Everyone, including leadership, was falling apart because we couldn't (or just plain refused to) talk to each other.

Make no mistake, I was certain this was my fault.

"Drake, I'm sorry," Hicks started. "I . . . I'm sorry I tried to help you guys when . . . you just don't want it."

"'Wanting it' doesn't matter. 'Need' is the better word, and some of us do need help."

"I know the difference." He swallowed past a growing lump in his throat. "I need to vent to you."

I pointed to myself. "You need to vent to me? Why me?"

"Does it matter? You're the one who understands what Hudson's going through. You're the one who knew that the medicine is hurting him psychologically. Plus, I know you were pushing me away for a reason. I don't know if I should've just left you alone or tried a different approach. I think you understand that this is really frustrating, feeling like no one around you is even trying to understand what you're doing."

I nodded. I completely understood that.

"I know you and Hudson are probably upset that you have to stay behind for this upcoming mission, and I'm sorry that the guys we were sent aren't the brightest."

"They don't have to know the exact reasons," I replied. "It's not your fault or their fault. It's also not your fault that Hudson's been easily angered. Trust me, I get it. I blame myself for shit that's not my fault all the time. It's hard to deal with on a daily basis, but I'm working on it." Was now the perfect time to really spill my guts to him? Would it help anyone if I told him the real reason I pushed him away? _No, that would be selfish. He's going through shit of his own._ "Did . . . Hudson attacking Lucano . . . push you over the edge?"

I prodded Hicks in the exact right spot. He rubbed his face, and when he took his hand away, I saw the glinting of fresh tears in his eyes. "It did."

"I'm guessing you were already feeling like trying to handle the mental health of everyone in the squad was overwhelming?"

"It was. I couldn't just drop it, though. I had you on my mind saying that the reason you pushed me away was because you felt like I didn't care about you as an individual. I didn't want to project that by suddenly . . . ignoring everyone's problems. Truth is . . . no one except you and Hudson really told me anything about stuff bothering you. Everyone kinda said, 'I'll say something if I start feeling bothered,' and left."

"You put a big ol' weight on your shoulders."

"Exactly." Hicks looked at me. "Drake, I don't want to ask, but . . . how do you know?"

"I just do." I shrugged. "I dunno, I know how you feel. It comes from trying to deal with my own emotions and realizing that it's a lot harder than just shutting up or crying. Whether or not you're ashamed of it is up to you, but, I won't say anything to anyone about what we say here."

Somehow, Hicks knew that I was telling the truth. It didn't bring a smile to his face, but I think it made him feel better. "Well, I appreciate that." He took a breath. "You're dismissed for the night. I . . . I need to be alone."

* * *

To make a long story short, Vasquez told me that I needed to sleep in my own room. She was really embarrassed by the fact that Lucano, someone we hardly knew, walked in on us right before we were going to have sex. She didn't even want that happening if it was someone we did know, and she was really afraid that Lucano was going to tell someone that we were sleeping together. I was embarrassed as well, but I also knew that I had been telling a select few people about our relationship. Then again, they were people that I could trust (although, I told Miranda out of necessity). No amount of talk could get me to stay, and all we could do was pray that Hudson had tackled Lucano hard enough to knock a few memories loose.

In the morning, I learned that Lucano had taken everything that happened yesterday as a sign that he needed to stay out of our business and not be so quick to try and be friendly with everybody. I knew that because of his silence at breakfast. As a matter of fact, _everyone_ was silent at breakfast, and it was a little disturbing. We had all retreated into our own heads. No one cracked jokes, no one tried to talk about the mission, no one tried to ask if anyone was OK. It was almost pure silence.

I would also learn that Bishop had taken one of Hudson's pills last night to study it. He could identify most of the pill's ingredients, but was stumped by one of them. I expected him to call Hornby, but instead, he called Delhoun. It was around ten in the morning when Delhoun came by to take a look at this ingredient. He and Bishop were alone in sick bay for about an hour, and then Delhoun asked me to grab that folder with Hornby's notes. The two looked over it, and Delhoun said, "That's the component making Hudson aggressive."

"What?" I replied.

"Annexer hormones." Delhoun gestured to the broken pill in a petri dish on the table. "This particular one is stress-related. It's released whenever the Annexer is nervous and goes into flight-or-fight mode. It causes their fur to taste bad to predators." He folded his arms over his chest. "It's fairly easy to obtain as well. Just brush the animal, put the loose fur in a bag, and send it to a lab where they can separate it."

"Why would that be in this pill?" You learn something new every day.

"To force Hudson to sweat out the silver flower toxin. Most of the medicines you took had a very small trace of this hormone, but the dose was so small it didn't have any effect on you psychologically. Hornby decided to go with a whopping two milligrams in this pill. That's why Hudson's displaying such aggression." Delhoun picked up his cap, and looked at me. "I'm guessing you're still mad at Hornby."

I shrugged. "I'm not pissed off, but I'm not going to be friends with him."

"Drake, Hornby's not a perfect man. This is an experimental drug. I'm pretty sure that Hornby will take into account everything that's happened, and will adjust the medicine as such. You can't hold onto this grudge forever."

If Bishop wasn't in the room, I would've started arguing with Delhoun. Instead, I said, "What do we do until the bottle's empty? Someone could get seriously hurt."

"Maintain a low heartrate. No strenuous exercise. Try to avoid exposing him to things that would force traumatic memories to resurface. I would also cut the pills in half, just to lower the dosage a little." Delhoun grinned. "Don't you love it when big problems have simple solutions?"

I rolled my eyes, not appreciating Delhoun making light of the subject. "It's not going to reverse the fact that Hudson attacked one of the soldiers replacing us for the upcoming mission. Now we're probably going to be referred to as the loony squad."

"Maybe, but it could also not happen. There are just some things you should let go of, Drake," Delhoun replied. He started leaving the room, and I followed him.

"Hey, do you think Hudson and I can stay with you while everyone else is on the Moon?"

Delhoun paused. "I guess . . . You realize I'm having surgery in a few days, right?"

"Yes."

"You, Hudson, and Aran are going to be helpful while I'm incapacitated. No ifs, ands, or buts about it."

"Sure. We'll be helpful." _When Annexers fly._

"Then you and Hudson can stay with me until your unit returns."

* * *

I was looking forward to staying with Delhoun for a week or so, but I was also afraid this would be a major setback in proving to everyone else that I was fit for combat. That being said, I had no gripes about eating more fucking cornbread for lunch. It was going to be my last meal with everyone else for the next week, so, of course I had to be sweeter than normal.

It was rushed, though. When everyone got up, I was still eating, and every conversation just stopped. It was almost like how fog disappears in the morning. They were trying not to focus on the events of the last couple days, and that was understandable, because this mission was more important.

After making sure no one was around, I knocked on Vasquez's door and said, "It's Drake. Can I come in?"

Vasquez opened the door, and pulled me in. She was clearly angry, but the longer we stared at each other, the more her glare began to fade. "No matter what happens, I love you," she whispered.

I smiled, starting to get a little choked up. "I love you, too. I'm-I'm sorry about . . . you know-"

"Forget about it. We'll have other times to make love, or cuddle, or talk, or kiss, or all of the above." Vasquez touched my face. "Because I promise I'll come back."

"And you'll keep that promise." I kissed her forehead. "Now, don't worry about me. Just go do your best out there. I'll be fine."

"I will." Vasquez let go of me, and grabbed her duffel bag to sling it over her shoulder. "Take care of Hudson, OK?"

"I will." I followed her into the hallway, and hung back a little as the rest of the squad headed outside, where they boarded a ferry that would take them to a spaceport in Sydney. I stood by the gates, watching until the ship was a dot in the distance. My heart aching, I turned back to gather up my stuff, wake up Hudson, and go to Delhoun's. As I put my I.D. card in the slot to get back in the base, one of the MPs said, "You got mail, Drake," and handed me a heavy envelope. The return address read " _Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_ ," and my heart started pounding nervously as I opened it. Inside was a letter, a sheet with all my scores, and a diploma with my name on it.

The MP was smiling at me. "Congratulations."

Without a word, I sprinted to the gates, and yelled, " _Vasquez! I passed! I passed! I got my diploma, baby!"_

I know she couldn't hear me, but it felt good to do that.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: Did Hicks's plan really fail, or was he successful by opening up to Drake?_

 _Author's Note: This story felt very intensive and not very intensive at the same time. I appreciate all the comments that have said this story was good, one of the best things they've ever read, and so on. I'm glad there are people who enjoy this type of slice-of-life, psychological writing. It's fun to work on, and it was good to let Drake breathe a little throughout the course of the story with small, happy moments; they were crucial to getting him to start healing, mentally, and it isn't good to have a character-any character-be continuously pressed down by the negative aspects of their life, whether it be something as severe as PTSD or as commonplace as past regrets.  
_

 _It really was tempting to write about sending Drake home to receive his diploma, but that should probably be its own story, especially since I've got a wide variety of characters that could travel with him for support, or I could be cruel and send him alone. That will be something to think about while working on the next story. Happy reading - Cat._


End file.
